If the glory can be killed, we are lost

Taco Friday for Friday, August 23rd

It is my dire duty to inform you of yet another loss in our karass. T.N., a spiritual soldier of Taco Friday since days lost since generations passed, will die. We will all die, but he will die in the most ignominious fashion: he will no longer breathe and know that tacos are only around the corner. Years of experience in yelling, vomiting, and punches, gone with the stroke of a pen/urine test.

How do we celebrate the loss of a hero? Self-flagellation comes to mind, as does breaking bottles by the garbage bins outside the QF Mart (also deceased). Celebration of the dead is only heartbreaking if one has lived not their life to the fullest and if people were unkind to one another; "perhaps if they were / our deaths would not be so sad." Here at Taco Friday (my desk as I write before wine and nicotine leaves my fingers), we front a more Spartan approach: we celebrate the dead as though they were still living.

We ignore death because it is trivial. We celebrate death because it is as close to waking up as the alarm clock or the sun peeking through window shades. An embrace of greeting is as precious as final goodbyes since they are identical.

 This Taco Friday will break the rules, so get ready. There will be gifts (punches; death) and surprises (gifts; death). You are to RSVP or fuck you. Fuck you so much.

Thank you.

In the future, we will all be birthdays

Hello hello. Please note now that the first person will not be used for this post. That would be rude, since we all know that the narrator is an alive dead person. Instead, the lives/deaths of others will be celebrated in this upcoming...

THOU$AND DOLL$R T$CO FRI$$$DAY BIRTHD$Y BA$H

This upcoming Friday, June 14th will mark the first full day in the thirty-first year of life for M.E. Thirty winters and an unquantifiable amount of human suffering later, the egg of her fourth decade hatches in a nest filled with a delicious tableau of Spanish/Spanish-inspired cuisine and scratchers, lots of scratchers. Join her in the joy of living and winning in big with scratchers, scratchers everywhere. To add fuel to the fire of terrible metaphors (?), a special out-of-town guest will visit, she is called Alana and thinks that Bill Cosby has a lot of important things for us to know.

What is a Thou$and Doll$r T$co Fri$$$day? Exactly what it sounds like, if you could pronouce "$." Some say that it's just the sound of an old-school cash register, other say that it's the noise of jingling coins in one's pocket. Either way, you are not allowed not to grow to extreme sizes and expand under the force of your ego in a vacuum, the opposite of a crab (?). It will be glorious and sometimes you just gotta puke, okay? Don't feel bad about it, we'll all be doing it.

It is a thousand times more important that you RSVP now, now more than ever. You will be executed if you do not, that is not a joke or a threat, it is simply true.

WE DOIN' THIS OKAY

I never got around to clarifying the letdown that was part three of my Taco Friday rebirth posts. Some people (Dub T. Snickers) rightfully got upset about the lack of conclusion, or at least the lack of a salient point after 2000 words of moody taco thoughts. Allow me to "set the record straight."

I thought of myself as a sort of guide to the incandescence of Taco Friday, the same sort which led to many punches and punch threats and dick insults and accusations of non-human parentage and "pornography," etc. That special feeling of fostering unrefined ego was, to me, the core of Taco Friday; I have no idea what you think is/was important. I still hate gods and yearn to kill them and I still want to bring people into my home to eat food and rejoice in an abundance of love but I am not going to try to bring you along for the ride if you don't feel it in your unthinking meat heart. To wit:

THE PAST IS PROLOGUE.

I think we are now marking the end of the era of such tragic monkeyshines. The Prologue is over, friends and neighbors and relatives. Let the main body of our noble work begin.

            - Kurt Vonnegut, Slapstick

With that, I also invite you to celebrate once more in tacos with me this Friday, April 26th. "This is happening." As always, RSVP by email, telephone, or by posting right here. If you RSVP less than three hours before showing up you explicitly give up your right to decline to wear a hat of my own design.

Taco Friday for April 5th, 2013

"God is either dead or uncaring!" - this woman and everyone

I want to feed you, I want to feed your mouth and body with food that comes from a carefully choreographed set of actions. It is these actions -- in a very particular manner, no less -- through which I turn food into a different food. Some of these foods, before they became different foods, were less desirable or in some cases somewhat poisonous or less digestible before I performed particular actions on them. Come, let me do that. Come to my apartment and let me let you turn food into your body.

Also I want to give you beverages of several different types. Some of these beverages are a sort of food in that they can be metabolized, other beverages are strictly not food. Do not forsake eating foods or different foods for these beverages; though you may be sustained by them over the course of days, they lack critical nutrients necessary for your body to keep turning food into your body. Be sure to eat food, that is what I am saying.

To reiterate my desires, I want you to come to my apartment so that I can supply you with food that has undergone a non-destructive transition from one state to another and also beverages which may or may not be food-like. You may use your time in my abode to interact with others using your bodies and sounds. This may prove to be pleasurable and is recommended.

If you want to come to my apartment to engage in these actions you need to tell me so that I have enough food and not food as to avoid disappointing you and other people. Thank you.

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.

On The Generations Of Taco Friday

The Taco Friday of today is almost unrecognizable compared its original form, as different as a cat is to a passion fruit. Take the most obvious elements -- punches, genital insults, canned shellfish prizes that you “win” -- all of these ubiquitous themes were absent from the first Taco Friday. Indeed, even the Great Mission was missing. Few besides your host have seen the entire saga unfold, have been there for every step. Walk with me, then, through the archives. Any factual misrepresentations are entirely unintentional and corrections are welcome.

The First Generation of Taco Friday

Taco Friday was born in Central Square, Cambridge. It owes its name to my first of two roommates, Aileen, while I lived in a basement behind the Whole Foods. I was a recent college graduate and my apartment would attest to this fact; exposed (and often unbearably hot) pipes, “found” couches and seats, and disdain for feng shui defined the space. It was carpeted and needed a dehumidifier badly.

In those days, Taco Friday was more of an excuse to invite people to play Guitar Hero than it was a sledgehammer of truth. Indeed, the first Taco Friday was a gathering of exactly three people, later to become an assortment between four to seven. The tone was jovial, rarely threatening (except occasionally focused directly at Whitey, I am so sorry for this), and the tacos of fairly poor quality. However, Ortega products were even then strictly verboten.

This time period saw a seeding of the only two marriages to blossom in the fecund soil of Taco Friday. My own ego, however, lacking any well-defined support structures in my post-collegiate world, began to fall into itself. God, having died of his pity for mankind, was of no use. Powerful magic was needed to stave off collapse, and so powerful magic was used.

The Second Generation of Taco Friday: Doug

        

In comparison to the lighthearted fun times of the first generation, the second was defined by badness. Badness abound, badness unbound. The beating heart of Taco Friday began to coalesce in this era and a wisp of continuity can be drawn from this point in our venerated institution’s history to the present. Elements such as resolution through confrontation, freedom from fear, “pure being” were all present and, quite importantly, people partook readily. There was little, if any, limp dick shit.

My second roommate, Doug, liked Fun and was an excellent vector for the celebration, despite legitimate objections to him. Taco Friday was frequented by his labmates, who created a constantly-changing landscape of characters which fueled the feeling of a frat party; dear readers, this is not necessarily a bad thing. There were punches, indoor smoking, and an extremely threatening BB gun.

The maelstrom began slowly to turn but in a stupid, undirected manner. All of this excited me greatly and made me feel like a tiny tyrant. The tacos did not improve in quality during this time and were mostly a greasy mess.

The Third Generation of Taco Friday: Somerville, Part 1

After moving to Somerville, the momentum of Taco Friday started to pick up dramatically. If you can remember the space, dear reader, it was clean and fresh and new. The floors were gorgeous and the kitchen amply spacious. My knowledge of what a taco is, and what a taco should be, finally started to come together. “Fuck you, boring ground beef tacos,” I seemed to say. “Hello, modest culinary successes.”

Beyond the new space being attractive and inviting, the tone of Taco Friday became both lively and refined. Since the casual observer would not likely consider what he or she was casually observing at Taco Friday to be “refined,” I will clarify. The nonsense of earlier times was still there, but it wasn’t quite so baroque. This is to say, it was obvious that all attendees had bachelor’s degrees or more. To further clarify, the analogy could be made as such:

2nd generation Taco Friday : 3rd generation Taco Friday ::

 :

The tenor slowly began to transition from nonsense (wooo ha ha WOO!) to The Modern Taco Friday. It was, as Highlights for kids would put it on their back cover, “fun with a purpose.” The attendee composition was ideal (here’s looking at you, dear reader), the variety was suitable, and the food was getting better. People engaged in displays of Dionysian joy, and I reveled in it. Punches happened often, people got electrocuted, and shenanigans were rarely called. Polite conversation must have occurred at some point but the main draw was unabashed affirmation.

I was happily 25 years-old and could never, ever die. I punched someone through a chair, both riled up and completely infuriated by Four Loko; I’m sorry, Sara.

I am not a mother, therefore I have little hesitation telling others which of my children I love most. I will tell you that this is my favorite child, she is golden and perfect.

The Fourth Generation of Taco Friday: A Return to Cambridge

I admit: compared to the previous venue, Taco Fridays in Harvard Square were a disappointment to me. They never quite reached the heights that I perceived them to have reached in Somerville. Was I living in the past, wanting so badly for it to reoccur that I pulled my own Weekend At Bernie’s One and Two, or was Taco Friday doomed to live in the shadow of its own salad days? It’s difficult to tease out, but in short, momentum was not transferred perfectly from one vessel to the other.

Instead of lingering on the negatives, let’s highlight the positives. If I allow myself to gloat, I will say that my culinary ability improved by leaps and bounds during this time. Those tacos were delicious, oit? I will also say that we watched more Jem during those days than any of us had experienced since 1988 (probably, I don’t tell you how to live your life).

There is a clear, negative aspect of your then hosts’ relationships which spilled over into the Tacoverse. This is outside of the scope of a historical reflection, but for this, I’m sorry, kids. I still love you, even if I only get to see you on weekends.

The Fifth Generation of Taco Friday: Somerville, Part 2

Stay tuned, dear readers. The final installment of this series will not be posted until later in the week, so I will announce now that tacos are goin’ down this Friday, February 22nd, an intercession for the living by the living. As always, RSVP. The Taco Friday customer service email node is available for questions. Please let me know if you need direction(s) (street, moral, etc.).

On Taco Friday; On Its Mission and Modes

Taco Friday has been a social staple of a small group of people for what has been nearly seven years. It has undergone massive shifts in identity, culture, and focus; volume, sanity, and magnitude of physical violence; location, culinary skill, and epistemological tone. Clothed in the trappings of an ostensibly taco-themed gathering of young to no-longer-qualified-by-an-adjective adults, it is a spiritual birthing place. Look barely beneath the surface and see an environment meant to encourage individual expression and exploration. If I have not been a complete failure, you, the participant/celebrant of Taco Friday will agree that it has been a time of joyful, honest expression and freedom from fear.

By freedom from fear, I mean destroying old walls and pointless mores, archaic modes of thought that would have otherwise have been brought from cradle to grave. Spoke Zarathustra,

“You shall love your children’s lands: let this love be your new nobility - the undiscovered land in the furthest sea! … You shall make amends to your children for being the children of your fathers: thus shall you redeem all that is past!”

Since I am a college graduate, as are most of my friends, I can assume that most attendees of Taco Friday have stared inward with at least a small amount of self-criticism. Beliefs questioned and, when found to be beleaguered, let loose or reformulated in a manner more consistent. It is a drastic failure, however, when this evaluation is a singular process that occurs once per lifetime and not with every new day. Listen: ontological clarity occurs neither at sixteen years of age, when we are filled with a molten hatred for authority and clamor for revolution, nor when we are twenty-one and descend from the mountaintop, laws in hand. It does not occur on your mother’s deathbed or your father’s or your own.

Does anything set our views and morals apart from the Cro-Magnons of decades past except for the intervening years? Of course not; the last generation’s modalities (and those of the generation prior, etc.) seem increasingly quaint and parochial precisely because they belong to the last generation. We are not of the generation that has finally, god damnit, gotten it right.

If we wish to avoid this fate -- becoming living artifacts -- and if we wish to avoid stagnation, the solution is continuous identification of one’s failures and perpetual rectification of one’s faults. This does not mean that we are lost in the fog, always wrong and the light just out of reach. Instead, it means that we readily acknowledge the necessary imperfections that come with being an alive piece of meat. We are not condemned to a sad and cruel life of self-flagellation. We are not victims of the machinery of Samsāra.

I do not come to bury Taco Friday, nor to praise it (HAHA, JOKE: I AM HERE TO PRAISE IT). There have been times of substantial shuffling in the past, either when I have moved or when dear friends have moved on. Indeed, there have been at least five generations of Taco Friday (Of the Generations Of Taco Friday, to follow), but something different is happening now. My recent return to Somerville comes at a time of a personal sea change that is fundamentally incompatible with the old tenets. I previously asserted that eternal vigilance is required to avoid moral and epistemological stasis; however, if this is one’s only imperative, one becomes intellectually poor. To maintain the nautical metaphor: if you build too close to the tideline, all you have to show for it are your sandcastles.

Coming soon, a history lesson: On The Generations Of Taco Friday.

I am not dead.

 Dear friends,

I am not dead (see title). More importantly, Taco Friday is not dead. It is undergoing "a little bit of spring cleaning." That is to say, I am writing a manifesto in three parts. Keep your eyes peeled for a series of essays regarding your (least) favorite Friday night activity:

1. On Taco Friday; On Its Mission and Goals
2. On The Generations Of Taco Friday
3. On the Future Of Taco Friday

Following the completion of this series, Taco Friday will emerge from its chrysalis, slick with ichor, and harden into a metaphor for puberty.

Signed,
The Management

My Other Horse Can't Eat Horseradish, Either

Taco Friday for Friday, May 11th

People have been talking. People have been saying, "update your goddamned blog, we crave newness." Hark, you have not been abandoned like so many gross pigeon toes in the urban landscape. Your presumed favorite ostensibly taco-themed Friday happening is here to stay, with the next installment planned for one week from today.

What have you missed in the intervening month of wasted and used-up Friday nights? Well, for starters:

• J. "D.S." G. enjoyed a short-lived celebrity after a video of him punting mangoes like footballs went viral.
• A.B. found what appeared to be a blackberry under his big toenail, but it turned out to be a subungual haematoma.
• You all learned how gross subungual haematomas are after Googling that term.

Come, then, and eat tacos with others. Also, use the next week to reflect on Taco Friday. Think of how it has helped break the binds of fear, how it has made you a more powerful individual. As always, RSVP or you're dead to me.

Tacos, feat. DJ Darlin' Darwin

Taco Friday for Friday, February 17th



@}-,-`- CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES, COME ON ;D

Time to pick yourself up by your bootstraps, folks, 'cause it's time to THINK POSITIVELY. No more piling up boxes of "denied emotions" in the "dark recesses of your soul" just because you want to "fit in." You wouldn't anyway, so what's the use in feel bad about being bad? THINK POSITIVELY.

To that end, I present to you the offer of tacos on Friday. You can put them in your body and they will become a part of you. You are just a transient collection of re-purposed dead things that shits out pieces of itself. THINK POSITIVELY. To further illustrate this message, a special guest, A. Darwin R., will be in attendance, promoting positive thought to a level that was once thought to be dangerous.

Same taco time, same taco place. You know the drill: RSVP or you will get spanked.