Tacos, man.

What’s so great about a taco? Some might say, “big whoop, it’s just a few things in a tortilla.” I say, Really? That’s like saying a Rothko painting is just a few colors on a canvas. To the uninitiated, I suppose that could be true but, to others in the know (those with an appreciation for the finer things), that couldn’t be further from the truth. The singular joy of the taco has as much to do with what’s in it as what isn’t in it. Less can be more, there is beauty in simplicity.

Take the carnitas taco. Simply stated, it’s a pork taco. This pork however, at once tender and caramelized to a crisp, is magical. Slow-cooked with salt, oregano and cumin (along with the chef’s choice of other herbs and spices) and typically garnished with a bit of cilantro, onion and queso fresco, it is often served on a hand-sized, hand-made corn tortilla. A good one is rapture, a bad one can still be pretty good. More importantly, the taco is not weighed down with excess ingredients that might otherwise overwhelm or distract the eater.

The pork is the centerpiece – taking the focus from it would be a disservice to the chef and his/her creation. The same can be said for the carne asada taco, the tinga taco and the pollo asado taco. All feature a lovingly prepared meat as the focal point, no more than three complementary extras, and sometimes a salsa. Distinguished more by the main part than the sum of many other parts, the taco is a lot like the Cleveland Cavaliers – a great team of guys that play well together with one main guy that leads and carries the team. LeBron James is the meat – consistently good and essential to the taco’s success.

Though the tortilla on which it’s all presented is basically just a vessel, its importance cannot be understated. Warm and flexible, its subtle taste and texture hold everything together, literally and figuratively. The tortilla might even be more important than the meat – if it were to tear, the taco would cease to be a taco. If it broke down, the taco would fall apart. Think about it this way: if the taco is like the Cavs, then 2009 NBA Coach Of The Year Mike Brown might be the tortilla.

I’m not saying the taco is the perfect food. I’m just saying it's fundamentally the best. Just because the taco doesn’t always wow or hit every time doesn’t mean it’s not king. Even LeBron misses sometimes. The star of the team, the star of the taco – either way you look at it – the meat is still the main attraction, the star of the show. It can stand alone, but it tends to do a little better with some accompaniment.

just a thought

We use tools for any number of things. A screwdriver screws, a drill drills, a saw saws. Necessity being the mother of invention, all tools were thus born of a direct need to serve a specific purpose. So what was the first tool?

In all likelihood, it was probably the hammer. Or something like a hammer – an object for striking, pounding and crushing. The hammer is, to this day, the most rudimentary tool. Its action is basic, its use simple, its result predictable. Still, I’m thinking that it might not have been the first tool.

Consider the backscratcher. Or something like a backscratcher – an object that reaches where a hand cannot to satisfy that most primal of urges.

We’ve all experienced the torture of an itch that just can’t be scratched. We’ve seen pets flip out, twisting their bodies to feverishly gnaw at a patch of skin. We’ve seen videos of bears rubbing against trees, the satisfaction on their faces almost perceptible. It’s such an animal instinct that I have a hard time believing that a primitive human wouldn’t do anything in his power to get relief from a nagging itch.It makes sense that a scratching tool (doubtless just an unaltered stick) was the first tool, the first object utilized for a particular function. It was also perhaps the spark that ignited the fire of discovery, opening the developing mind to hunting-and-gathering tools. Some might stake this claim against a spear, a blade, a digger and a hammer. How might an enterprising human know that a spear could pierce, or a blade could cut and scrape, or a digger move earth, if not for a scratcher’s effect on his skin? Just a thought.

sing to me

Sometimes I hear things. I hear things in the white noise of a ceiling fan, in the dull tumbling of the drier, and in the forced air of the furnace. What I hear sounds like a band. Or a voice. Like a distant radio, it’s faint but nonetheless present.

Though I can almost make out a tune, I’m quite sure the dishwasher isn’t really playing music. My refrigerator didn’t come equipped with the AM/FM option and the microwave isn’t tuned to my frequency. So what am I hearing? And why?

I don't know. Perhaps it’s a subconscious thing. Is my brain conditioned to create rhythm or cadence from an otherwise bland sound? Maybe it’s an inner attempt to spice things up a bit. Of course, I could just be going crazy.

The faucet speaks to me, too.