Delicious Tacos - Finally, Some Good News

What.

I was so glad to be alive to see them. Parrots– yellow crowned, red crowned. Blue crowned macaws, chestnut-fronted–

Wow–

I know– you wouldn’t believe how many species. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful they were. And I was so glad I kept living. I was so glad I was 40 and there were still so many things to see for the first time. And now here they are.

That’s beautiful.

It means something.

OK but the world ended. We need to eat. What do we do–

Whatever the fuck we want. We were slaves. And now we’re not. If you tell me you want it, we’ll go to the marina, we’ll take the nicest boat, and we’ll go to fucking Peru. We’re going to make it.

When the cliffs ended there was a row of beach houses. Sheltered by the mountains that sloped right down into the sea. They weren’t burned.

I told you, he said. Made for the first one. A gray Craftsman with a smiling sperm whale weathervane spinning crazily in the sea breeze. But Marcy said: Oh my God, and he stopped.

I know–

No, look–

A quarter mile ahead, behind a high piling of heaped boulders, a cream colored fortress jutted out on a man made sand peninsula. Crow-step roof ornaments echoed the high jagged ridgeline to the East, now dusted with snow. Mock-crenellated walls accented custom arched front facing windows in a facade carefully angled to optimize sweeping sea views. False minarets poked into brilliant blue sky. Hispano-Moorish arches beckoned to an airy and inviting atrium.

No way.

It is! she said. That’s Ellen and Portia’s Stately Moroccan Hideaway.

Ellen! had provided a video tour of the couple’s $22 million faux Moroccan home. Ellen personally highlighted where her hand-selected housewares could be purchased. Staccato jokes about duvets and tea sets. She authored an accompanying photobook. It’s a bold play, said Larry, Vice President, Global Sales. You think of Ellen! as a CPG/ QSR mom audience. But she’s not only targeting the top 1% of her watch here for furniture buys– I’d say gay and childless 44+ with these 1600 dollar lamps– she’s also elevating herself as an aspirational lifestyle brand. Climbing out of the mom ghetto into Gwyneth money. It’s branding within branding. I don’t know that we even have the tech to measure it– she really is a genius.

The stone door was hanging open. It had belonged to an Algerian madrassah. He was holding the revolver. HELLO, he said. HELLO. Nothing.

They must be on vacation, she said.

The central courtyard had a fountain, now dry, surrounded by authentic tile frescoes and California native herbs. True to the home’s Moorish heritage, the tile designs were geometric so as not to present a graven image. A blue bird alighted on the fountain lip. In its beak a tiny pine cone. It glanced into the empty basin, contemplated, then hopped off and across the bricks to the shrubbery.

Look, she said.

A Western scrub jay.

Yes but look what he’s doing.

Trying to get the pine nuts?

No, he’s burying it! Watch–

The Western scrub jay was a passerine corvid about eight inches long. Its back blue as a tropical sea. Eyes alert. It contemplated the ground. Looked for the right spot. Dropped the pine cone on a dirt lump and held it between its toes and began hammering it into the earth. He pecked and pecked intently until the tip vanished under soft toast-colored soil.

Are they food cachers?

It’s more than that. They’re forest planters. The forgotten caches grow into trees. They create new ecosystems without meaning to. The pine cone will be opened up from all the fire–

We should stay here, he said.

Is it a sign?

I bet they have a nice bed. Plus I could use a shave– maybe Portia left her snatch razor.

The fridges were empty. Ellen’s co-branded cheese plates and flatware in the cabinets but every atom of food gone. An engraved thuya wood door from a Berber harem led to the pantry. It squeaked when he pulled it. Heart thumping in anticipation of Ellen and Portia’s organic low carb snacks. The shelves were empty. FUCK, he said.

Anything?

Nothing.

Can you fish?

Yeah but it will take time. We have to find the gear, maybe the boats–

We have to eat.

I know–

There was a click click click click click from upstairs.

They looked at each other wide eyed. Breathing extra quiet. His hand moved to the revolver handle. Finger on his lips. He motioned for her to hide in the pantry, and she did, and closing the naturally distressed harem door it squeaked. The sound again. Click click click click click.

He stalked through the sitting room past the L-shaped sectional in white calfskin. Spun around the corner with the big silver gun and tried to say something cool but just wheezed.

A honey colored teacup dog was stumping down the staircase. Worming down the steps like a slinky on her tiny legs. Dirty pink bow on her collar. Faux lion haircut growing in. She must have heard the pantry door. A sound that meant food .

J & J had integrated its “Sparkle” trans teen anti-bullying campaign with Ellen! ’s segments featuring her newly-adopted Pomeranian, Duchess. Ellen pre-taped selecting and nurturing the rescue after her early life of neglect in a puppy mill. The buy was a success. Segments showed Ellen grooming Duchess. Dancing along with Sparkle’s cheerleading. Per her father’s Instagram, Sparkle was emotionally abused on social media for wearing nail polish while presenting as a boy. Now she and Duchess enjoyed tandem pedicures. Sparkle had to be angled carefully. Her artificial hormone breasts had grown in lopsided.

Focus groups indicated high uptick in key axes of brand affinity. Significant effect sizes in Strongly Agree for core questions:

Clear and Clean is a health and beauty brand that supports my values

Cleansing with Clear and Clean is one way I can help change the world

( p < .02)

Duchess paused on the landing. Cocked her little head to gaze down with wet black doll eyes, innocent and afraid and hopeful. Shivering. Her pedicure had grown out. Her nails like talons. Metallic teal polish chipped into scattered shapes like ice melting on a black lake. Her shaking made them clickclickclickclick on the imported fruitwood inlay.

He knew her name. He called her, and she came to him. They cooked her over driftwood. It was the best meat he ever tasted.

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Cover: mattlawrence.net