Brains are weird.  There is a local chain up here called Taco Time.  It is completely PacificNW: everything is locally sourced, the ‘plastic’ sporks are made out of corn, they don’t have trashcans but compost bins, etc.  They also have a really tasty white chili.    They are everywhere, I drive by a Taco Time on my way to work.  It doesn’t happen each time I pass by, but if I notice the sign inevitably this happens:

My head has already assigned a two syllable word that starts with a T – followed by ‘time’ space, apparently it is full.  Prior to moving up here I doubt I’d heard that song since it was live on the radio when I was a kid.  Now a couple times a week I am living on Taco Time.  Never mind the fact that Tacoma time, or Topeka time, would make much more sense.  One too many syllables.  They don’t need me in the movies. Boom slide clank clank Living on Taco Time.  Please help.

Side note: Eric freakin Clapton covered this in 1978.  Let’s go ahead and skip from Blind Faith to Unplugged shall we?