The gourmet meal simply known as the taco truck

Dear taco trucks,

You see them all over this great state. From empty parking lots scattered throughout any city or town to curbside at various beach fronts along the coast. With names like “Crazy Taco”, “Tacos el Gallo” and “Esto no es Perro Tacos” (Loosely translated to this isn’t dog you’re eating) they cook up a goodness that not many of us natives can pass up. Yes, I am talking about you taco truck and it’s s about time someone gives you your just dues. What is it about the smell of rice, beans, tortillas, Tapitio and various meats spewing from a health hazard on wheels that instantly leaves every Californian with a full stomach and a smile on their face from the most paleo unfriendly of treats that makes the mouth salivate. Two of my favorite things in life are Mexican food and convenience (along with beer, beaches, booze, farming and blondes…well you get the picture) and to combine these two things into a Guadalajara on wheels is genius on par with the invention on the light bulb and the mobile stripper pole and makes me happier than Kate Upton’s bikini. It doesn’t matter what shape the truck is in or who is loitering in front of it. Red tag from the state?....We still eat there. Shady part of town?.....We still stop. People looking like they just threw back some tap water from Tijuana?....we still ask for extra ice. The whole concept of the mobile taco stand is brilliant. You’re telling me I can get some meat, cheese, salsa and enough cilantro to keep every farmer in Salinas in business for the foreseeable future and put it all on a double tortilla and charge $1 a piece for them? I say give me a plate of 7 with some lime and radishes on the side along with an ice cold Pacifico to wash it down.  So as you are cruising home today thinking about your dinner options and are low on cash find yourself the nearest empty strip mall or parking lot and a feast that only a taco truck can provide awaits you.

PS. Happy hump day peeps and once again sorry so late today the farming gig that finances my adventures took precedence this morning.  Get outside and enjoy yourself some fun and sunshine and remember…..If Timmy has 10 pieces of bacon and eats 9 pieces what does Timmy have?...Pure happiness is what Timmy has.

Afghanistan vs.The California Central Valley...where to buy my next vacation home

Dear California Central Valley,

As I head south towards that paradise known as “Fres-yes” to a place some call heaven where the beer flows like wine and beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano….I’m talking about a little place called Bass Lake (Thank you Dumb and Dumber for always giving me material) for a weekend of debauchery with some of the best fraternity brothers that dues can buy I found myself cruising down HWY 99 caught up in my experiment of how many times the numerous bubble gum country stations poison society with Hootie’s voice I found myself suddenly slamming on my brakes due to the fact that the minivan in front of me thought that it would be a wise decision to cruise in the fast lane at the radar topping speed of 35mph while at the same time keeping pace with the big rig next to it with not another car in sight and obviously ignoring the fact that the lane for traffic that travels at this speed is situated on the right possibly because the traffic signs states “slower traffic stay to the right” is not written in a language other than English. In my road rage anger of having to travel at a speed not made for a race track (Those of you who have traveled with me know what I’m talking about) it was at this moment when a came to the realization of where I had ventured and was now deep into its heart….The California Central Valley. I’ve always said that if you were not born and raised in the California Central Valley and by chance end up there be it for work purposes, a loved one or you lost a cruel bet it must be like being shipped to an exotic location such as Iraq or Afghanistan. The stretch of road from Stockton to Fresno (I don’t have enough space to write about you Bakersfield) is probably the ugliest thing I’ve seen since the local strip club had a “Girls of Oroville” night to generate some new clientele. As I drove by village after the village with names such as Modesto, Merced, Chowchilla and Madera with nothing but dirt, a lack of water, graffiti and fast food to offer I again realized how well we have it in that little place we call “God’s Country” in Northern California along with our friends on the Central Coast and our counterparts to the South who get the pleasure of enjoying the beach, amazing weather and our water 12 months out of the year compared to you Central Valley. Now I know I’m going to get some hate mail out of this but if I tried to please everyone in this column I would be called a Democrat. So cheer up, and know that if you have not got out of the valley yet there is always that glimmer of hope that you can end up somewhere else in this great state that so many of us call home.

PS. It’s finally Friday peeps make it count and I hope in this triple digit weather you are able to enjoy it next to a body of water with a cold beer in your hand like myself and remember…..I’ll have one more bartender, before the next one.

The black lab and tennis balls....a love affair

Dear Labs,

Who is always there for you after a long day at work or a night on the town…..Your lab. Who is always happy to see you no matter how bad a day he had in the backyard dreaming of ducks and leftover bacon (You know it’s a dream because there is no such thing as leftover bacon)….Your lab. Who can you beat like it owes you money for numerous offenses such as the chewing of expensive property and digging out the new flowers yet 5 minutes later is wagging his tail at you with that legal crack known as the tennis ball in his mouth…Your lab. Who makes that new special someone in your life smile as they play with him on the carpet even though he is usually as welcome in the house as a man card is in the Bieb’s pocket…..Your lab. Dogs and especially labs are so ingrained into our lives that when we hear on the news that someone lost their life in an accident or at the hands of another human we don’t blink an eye but when Michel Vick decides to have his own personal version of gladiator minus Russell Crowe and the rapper formally known as Joaquin Phoenix the public is calling for his head. Labs bring much joy in our lives and over time they become a part of your family and people who don’t believe this are as soulless as a ginger tanning in Cabo in July. In fact labs make you do so many things out of the ordinary in your daily routine the next thing you know is you have a Facebook site and an Instagram feed full of nothing but pics of a black dog named after a man with an affinity for pudding pops and ugly sweaters relaxing in the back of the truck, running through the rice or swimming in a ditch chasing anything and everything that he can retrieve. It has come to the point that I take so many pictures of this dog that Asians on a first time trip to Disneyland would ask me to back away from the camera. I know there are many of you out there that could fill this column with story after story of something your lab did that the rest of the world would think was hilarious but actually is as funny to the rest of us as the slot machine known as the ATM flashing “insufficient funds” at you on a Friday night.  But that’s what labs do, they are our 4-legged children that we are proud of no matter what color they are whether it be yellow, brown or my personal favorite black. I just want to take the time to thank you Cosby for making my life much more interesting and for continuing to bring a smile to my face buddy.

PS. Sorry so late today peeps, life got in the way. Happy hump day on this start to a scorching hot stretch of the week so keep a cold drink your hand to cope and remember…..Whatever it takes. Don’t settle for anything else.

"How to ruin a perfect song 101" by Darius "Hootie" Rucker

Dear Darius Rucker,

I have to be honest; I’ve been on to your act for awhile. Listen let’s get real; we all know. Just because you clean up well, drop a few pounds and trade in that 90’s grunge and plaid for some pearl snaps and a cowboy hat doesn’t mean that we all have not forgot who you really are. I remember when the only thing on MTV consisted of Bevis and Butthead (God those were the days) and actual music videos featuring you and your boys formally known as The Blowfish singing about the only one you wanted to be with was me while at the same time running fade patterns in the end zone while Dan Marino rained down dropped touchdown pass after dropped touchdown pass on your part thus defeating the black athlete stereotype.  When Kurt Cobain decided that his facial region was better off resembling a block of Swiss cheese than something that killed 80’s heavy metal I thought you along with the likes of the Gin Blossoms and Blues Traveler would be forgotten forever. Now years later you have reemerged minus the 3 talentless hacks that were keeping you grounded all those years and you have chosen to join the ranks of the genera known as bubble gum country and set your sites on destroying the one song that is sacred to so many of us weather we are humming along to it at 2am at our favorite watering hole or blaring it from the speakers while checking rice on a warm summer night or sashaying a pretty lady across the dance floor in numerous honkytonks across this great nation. Yes Hootie, I am talking about your desecration of the holiest of all songs Wagon Wheel.  Why is it that when someone creates something so perfect that others must try and improve or imitate it? When God created me he didn’t say; “Damn, this Marcus is excellent but what if I made one more for the world to enjoy?”  No he stopped there after experiencing perfection just as you should have the moment it popped into your head that you should pen a remake of the perfect song. Now every time I turn on the radio or try to enjoy myself and relax with an ice cold beer at that little section of heaven known as 5^th and Ivy all I hear is you continue to poison the mass with your train wreck version of the song . If I was to create a drinking game and take a shot when I heard you singing something other than “hold my hand” I would be Paul Zingg’s next example on the horrors of drinking…But wait, maybe if this were to happen he would ban you Hootie from the airwaves. (I may have to take one for the team here).  Hootie, Darius, Mr. Blowfish or whatever you want to go by I am asking you to fade back into retirement or the occasional set at the county fair or local casino before you get the bright idea of covering a George Strait or Garth Brooks original and we really have some problems.  God Bless Old Crow Medicine Show. Amen.

PS. Happy Friday peeps on this start to a hot weekend. Get a beer in the hand and sand in your toes and enjoy it and remember…..Sometimes you just got to poop with the door open

The demise of society according to the bro tank

Dear Bro Tanks,

As graduation took place over the past weekend joy spread throughout the community as numerous young men and women would finally see the fruits of their labor realized and receive that diploma that usually takes 4 years of studying, homework, finals and sacrifice to earn but here in Chico we like to maximize our education and our parents hard earned dollars and stretch it out to 5 or 6 years (what can I say we are overachievers). Never wanting to miss out on a good time or seeing mom, dad and grandpa try Fireball shots and Bank Statements for the first time I threw on my finest weekend attire of cargo shorts, flip flops and embellished in donning yet another quality plaid pearl snap and headed out to participate in the festivities. Having not been out for awhile I was astonished by what I encountered. Now I know an epidemic of epic proportions has been brewing not only Chico but college towns across the nation. It started off slow spotting one or two drunk stumbling through a few choice bars or on a rare occasion you might see a group gathered together trying to see who would buy the next round of their well drink of choice. Now for the first time I could see how out of control this problem has become because before my very eyes I witnessed the invasive species known as you Bro Tank. As I stared horrified in disgust I counted one by one as the different species of you paraded by; fat guy, short guy, old guy, young guy, frat guy, nerd guy, athletic guy, etc. in different shapes and shades of stripes, neon colors and topical sayings all lacking that all important clothing invention known as the sleeve. Not only have you taken fashion back 40 years you have also added cut off jeans and an over sized flat bill ball cap to your ever growing repertoire. It looks like all those hours of watching Jersey Shore, Swamp People, Real Housewives and the Kardashian’s have blended together to make even Christina Aguilera look at you and ask; “What the F are you wearing?”. Listen there is a reason why you went the way of the dinosaur in the late 70’s and early 80’s Bro Tank and it wasn’t because Don Johnson made it fashionable to sport pink t-shirts with white sport coats.  It’s because people realized that if you weren’t on a beach, living in a double wide or our former governor strung out on roids and hippie lettuce pumping iron in Venice you were a mistake to the fashion world just like bell bottoms and tie-dyed. So please I am asking you as a man who has seen baggy jeans to Hawaiian shirts and flipped collars to pegged pants make their way through the closet to finally end it for good and so future generations do not make a hat trick of your mistake.

PS. Happy hump day peeps pay it forward on this short holiday week and remember…..A “dude rider” is a nicer way of calling a lady a whore which might just make her day.

God bless this great nation

Remember....That life is sweet and we  are able to have our cake and eat it too because so many have sacrificed their lives for the good of this great nation.....Merica. 

You need to have your outlets

One of a rice farmer's favorite way to relax on a Sunday....