Thank god it’s May 5.
Not because I love Cinco de Mayo or anything (though I appreciate a taco or margarita as much as the next fella). I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with all that “May the Fourth be With You” Star Wars-themed nonsense anymore.
Apparently, May 4 has been associated with Star Wars since 1979, and we can thank the Brits for that.
Look, I’ve got nothing against Star Wars. I’ve seen all the movies (and enjoyed most of them). I collected the toys and action figures growing up. Dressed as C-3PO one Halloween. Hell, I don’t even despise Jar-Jar Binks, which definitely puts me in the minority.
But those memes. They drive me to the brink of insanity.
They were funny once upon a time. Like, the first time I saw one, over a decade ago. I thought it was clever then, but little did I know everybody on social media would beat that dead horse forevermore. The same way they do with Pi Day (March 14, or 3.14) and “It’s Gonna Be May” (May 1). I’m pretty easygoing and can handle a lot of things, but overkill isn’t one of them.
My friend Ashley does not see eye-to-eye with me on this. I made the mistake of telling her on Tuesday how much I was dreading the next day. When she asked why, I made an even bigger mistake by telling her why. This is the woman who showed up for drinks with me and Tara last time wearing a Star Wars hoodie she had sewn herself, so I really should have known better. Naturally, she proceeded to bombard me with “May the Fourth be With You” memes immediately following my confession. Never mind that IT WAS STILL MAY 3.
And then, she said the fun doesn’t stop the next day, because then it’s “Revenge of the Fifth.”
No. That’s where I draw the line. It’s Cinco de Mayo, dammit. I choose to commemorate the anniversary of Mexican General Ignacio Zaragoza’s victory over the French Empire at the Battle of Puebla in 1862 on that date.
And eat tacos.
Which, incidentally, is exactly what we’re doing today with a Cinco de Mayo potluck at CenturyCo. When the signup sheet hit the break room weeks ago, I put myself down for guacamole and chips. A few days later, Anthony — the guy in charge of the whole affair — stopped by my office.
“I see you signed up for guacamole,” he said.
“Yep!” I replied. “Really looking forward to the potluck!”
“Is there any way I could talk you into bringing something else?”
“I was planning on bringing in guacamole myself. I want to do three different versions — a progressive tasting, going from mild to medium to hot.”
Anthony, in case you hadn’t guessed, is a foodie. Worse, he gave himself the title Self-Appointed Supreme Dictator for Life of The Potluck Organizational Committee.
I kid you not. That’s how he signs his emails. When I first started here, I was warned that Anthony takes potlucks very seriously. And the Potluck Organizational Committee might sound like a democracy, but it has a single member: Anthony.
“Unless guacamole is your specialty?” he added.
Guacamole IS my specialty, as a matter of fact. I got my hands on a recipe from a favorite Mexican restaurant years ago, modified it to make it my own, and it became an instant hit with family and friends. It’s one of those dishes I am expected (and happy) to make whenever there’s a party or family gathering. So, I replied to Anthony in the most fitting way I could find.
“Nope!” I said. “I’m happy to bring something else!”
What? Would you argue with the Self-Appointed Supreme Dictator for Life of The Potluck Organizational Committee?
Yeah. I didn’t think so.
After getting guac-blocked, I debated on many possible substitutes. I could do albondigas or pozole. Maybe an enchilada casserole. Spanish rice, perhaps. In the end, I decided on…
Scoff if you will, but those black olives, sliced jalapenos, diced onions, and crema are going to elevate the barbacoa tacos like nobody’s business.