Jill Domschot

Look, I don’t want to link to news articles because I don’t want to put myself on Google’s radar … or the media’s … or whoever’s. But there have been some exciting developments in the world over the past week. Let’s be honest, there have been developments of Idiocracy for a long time now. When did that movie come out? Mid-oughts? Yeah, it was prescient back then. It is even more prescient now.

Do you remember when New Mexico was handing out $100 bills and your name in the lottery if you took the jab in the arm? It gets worse. In Austria, a whorehouse is currently trading sex for the Covid vaxx. This is because at 65%, they have a low vaccination rate. Or whatever. You also don’t get diseases at all from whorehouses. Nope, that never happens, not in our enlightened times when people wear masks and condoms.

Now, of course, New Mexico is one of the most vaccinated states in the US, with a supposed rate of around 85%. This is confusing since we now have one of the highest rates of Covid infection. So much for wasting untold sums of cash on people who “like money” and can’t believe that “you like money, too.” I have a sinking suspicion that the hospitals like money, which is why they’re going to continue using Covid as an excuse to get it. On the other hand, vaccinated people tend to get infected with Covid and spread it around. That’s what the stats show.

I don’t know what the truth is; it’s hard to pinpoint these days, but I do know that the propaganda piece I just read, wherein a health administrator claims our New Mexico hospitals are full of unvaccinated people and, thus, if you have a heart attack, don’t expect to get treatment, is 100% lying. Okay, I’ll downgrade it to “twisting the truth.” If you have hospitals full of overdose victims (which we do, in the same areas where they are struggling to keep up) who didn’t happen to get the vaccine, the term “unvaccinated” is technically true. But it isn’t true that you won’t get treated if you have a heart attack. Heart attack patients are generally treated immediately. It’s the stubbed-toe patients in the ER who are going to have to stand in line.

And just when you thought the US and Austria couldn’t be outdone by the Idiocracy in other countries, a doctor in Canada has diagnosed a woman with “climate change.” Yes, that’s right. She apparently has diabetes, asthma, heart problems, and a trailer with no air-conditioning, so naturally, when she goes to the hospital with difficulty breathing, it must be “climate change.” I wonder if that will be the new disease when Covid doesn’t work any longer on the populace because they’re burnt out on hearing the word. “Climate change” is, indeed, still a fairly good trigger for many. Now that it’s been determined a disease, I wonder what the treatment will be. Best guess…taxes? Maybe on breathing (since we breathe out CO2), and probably on gas. Oh, heck, on cows, too. Does the Walmart pharmacy carry the generic brand, though?

I don’t have much to say about the other Idiocracies in the world. The image below speaks a thousand words that I can’t.

It’s no secret that the boomers raised their gen X children to be antiauthoritarian, rebellious, and disenfranchised. They did this in multiple ways, from the media they created or let us watch, to ditching us to fend for ourselves while they worked and/or followed careers. Far too many gen Xers were left to their own devices, ready to follow their own ways, march to their own tunes. Now that it’s come back to bite the boomers, they aren’t very happy. But at the same time, I see no indication that they recognize the part they played in this.

I began thinking about this while at the store the other day, where there was a plethora of boomers all masked up. I happen to live in a town that determined it would pay no heed to mask mandates any longer. Almost nobody wears them anywhere. That’s why these elders stuck out to me, their shifty, side-eyed glances from the top of their masks. Their eyes are shifty because they love mandates. They love big government bringing the hammer down on citizens. They are the generation, for the most part, who are making these authoritarian rules (e.g. Bush and the Patriot Act). Recall, this is the same generation that made flipping off their superiors and burning flags and bras popular.

Part of this, I’m sure, is youth versus old age. And yet, do most generations go to such extremes? It’s almost as if their intense authoritarian nature came out as a response to their own inability to reel themselves in from immoral destruction. As for my generation, I see less inclination with age to follow absurd rules. Life’s too short to waste it standing huddled on a yellow circle, equidistance from the next person huddled on a yellow circle.

Of course, masks are simply an outward symbol of what’s going on internally. That’s why people who refuse to wear them have so much vitriol for them. For those people, they aren’t just a “cloth on the face;” they’re an outward symbol that government can control our society down to the Nth degree. For my part, the only place I’ve conceded to wearing a mask in quite some time is at church. I generally respect church authority; I cannot and will not give this same respect to government, no matter how many boomers unpack Romans 13 to try to force it on me.

If you are the type of person — I don’t care what generation you’re from — who likes to unpack Romans 13 in order to force Christians to comply, I would just ask that you give it a little more thought. If Romans 13 means we have to follow every petty, unjust, or immoral rule brought to us by our authoritarian overlords, then this country we live in is operating off a bed of sin. That is the foundation, the zeitgeist, the raison d’etre of the United States: saying no to tyrants. This country would not exist if we had all just genuflected and chanted Romans 13 at each other.

We need to do a little self-examination, don’t you think? Should we be doing all these when our authorities tell us to: closing our businesses, ceasing our church services, donning our masks, getting our vaccines, handing over our suitcases and removing our clothes to be searched, teaching our children whatever our Department of Education tells us to? Yes? Then we should also repent of the American Revolution and beg the Queen’s forgiveness and ask her to be our leader once more. Either it is a sin — or it’s not — to throw their tea in the sea. If it’s a sin, then we had better humble ourselves as a nation right now. Unfortunately, we might not like the results. But, hey, at least our souls will be clean.

That was a dramatic title, no? Evil has always been a part of the world, but the last couple of years has brought the evil that lies in shadows to the light. We can visibly see the evil, whereas in years past, evil was a conspiracy theory that made a good many of us roll our eyes or smirk. Lesson one: it doesn’t pay to be glib, smug, and nonbelieving, as the truth has a way of catching up.

I’m not an impassioned person like Alex Jones — though we all should be a little more ready to shout until we’re hoarse and lose our credibility for the sake of truth — and yet, I used to regularly have these arguments about evil and truth with the pragmatists of the world. While the pragmatists were willing to vote for men like the Bushes, I saw them as evil, demon-possessed trolls. Yes, that was the way they appeared to me. And their actions didn’t change my mind.

I don’t want to obsess over the past or argue with people any longer. Lesson two: it’s useless to change a pragmatist’s mind. They must come to their own conclusions. But I admit I feel a little vindicated now that the entities I knew were corrupted with evil, such as the FDA and CDC, are coming out of their tombs or their coffins, or wherever it is that demonic vampires dwell. The funny part is I had fewer arguments with leftists once upon a time due to their knowing the FDA was in bed with big corporations like Monsanto. But now they’re apparently as pure as the driven snow regarding Covid vaccines according to leftists, and many of my old conservative pragmatist friends have changed their tune.

Information is really difficult to control, ultimately. It has a way of being put forward, even in times before the internet. There were underground resistance papers during the World Wars, for example, and in communist states. Now many of these anticommunist information gatherers have moved to YouTube and are being purged for badthink. Freedom of the press in the US is a complete scam. There is freedom of the press for the state propagandists, and anyone else is eventually shut down. However, as I already said, it’s difficult to control information. It gets out there before it’s taken down, and it is archived by many.

Lately, I do feel as if I’m watching two movie reels simultaneously, due to the difficulty of the state to control information. I read articles detailing world stats and information about Covid vaccines, their safety and efficiency, and giving voice to eyewitness testimonies of people in the medical field; and then I read the AP news as it pops up on my phone (I’ve tried to block it, but the news streams always find a way, I guess) to see our media, FDA, and CDC are pushing the exact opposite information than what I’ve been reading. The vaccines are dangerous at worst and ineffective at best, but they FDA has gone ahead and approved them for children, and the CDC and Biden admin are still touting them as better for immunity than actually getting Covid and pushing forward their mandates that have the potential to shut down the economy.

There is a big difference between being a sinful human who is prone to error in thought and giving oneself over to evil. It’s my opinion that the political elites have done just that. I’m sure that doesn’t apply to all of them; some are no doubt simply compromised and haven’t yet been consumed by the blood-sucking demons of worldly control and filthy lucre. Take, for example, Amy Coney Barrett: she went ahead and took the devil’s proffered golden ticket in the form of a lucrative book deal, and now belongs to the wrong camp. But is she fully taken over by evil? She is young yet. There is still time. I don’t believe that is the case with a man like Biden. I don’t believe he’s operating with any kind of conscience any longer. His beady little eyes tell me he’s demon-possessed, and he will do whatever is backwards and wrong for humanity because he does what his master the devil tells him. He doesn’t sound as if he’s able to produce independent thought. Contrast that with a man who is simply confused and sinful like Trump. He had to be removed from office because he hadn’t sold his soul to the powers that be. There was still a conscience there, even if he didn’t always know what the right thing to do was. Obviously, that doesn’t mean Trump is a good man. Sinful and confused still apply to Trump.

Do you think I’m being dramatic? I’m not. Neither am I a pragmatist. The fight between good and evil in this world is very real. But the question for us is the same as it’s always been, even before Joshua stood before the Israelites and told them to “choose this day whom you will serve; as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD” (this comes from Joshua 24:15).* So, whom will you choose to serve? As for me, I have never chosen to serve the God of pragmatism as many of my conservative family and friends have chosen to do. Pragmatism allows for great evil. Being perceived as reasonable will cause you to compromise.

Instead, be the opposite of pragmatic. Don’t be practical just because it will be easier to achieve or maintain your worldly status. Be like this little girl from Florida, who has more determination in her pinky than most adults have in their entire bodies: Florida Second-Grader Suspended 36 Times Over Mask Mandate. And if you want a clear evidence of evil rearing its ugly head, look at the school boards around the country that are trying to silence parents and push through evil propagandist curriculum. All of that has come to pass since Covid. I’m not sure if the wicked governors who continue pushing mandates on the people knew when they began that the evil was going to leak out in unexpected ways and wake up the complacent go-along-to-get-along people of this nation. Lesson three: the law of unintended consequences will always be there to thwart your best efforts.

*This is our family verse. It was the verse my mom drew in the cement sidewalk when the foundation to our shared house (at that time) was poured. It was the verse the Lutheran pastor chose for our family when we joined the Lutheran church. When we moved into our current house, the people who were selling it had left a keyring hanging up on a hook that uncannily bore this verse. We are constantly reminded of it.

Perhaps this will give somebody else some much needed hope when I say that I’m not a great audio-processor. Neither music nor verbal language skills come easily to me. And yet, here I am, my life hobbies and obsessions revolving around both. Paso a paso, sigo adelante. Aprendo algo nuevo cada día. It’s amusing to me that most of my Spanish contextually revolves around music, which is why when I wrote the above, song lyrics began to play in my head: Cada día más, voy a quererte cada día más, voy a quererte cada día más, mi amor, cada día más….** I haven’t heard that song in a long time, and there it was, waiting in my head.

Ever since I plunged into learning the diatonic accordion, I realized I was going to have to put my Spanish skills to use, as every beginning tutorial and music book I ordered was in Spanish. That has remained the case to this day. Thankfully, as I’ve stated before on this blog, I’m a fluent reader in Spanish. I was forced to learn that skill while having to read full-length novels in university classes. I still remember a 200-level Spanish professor giving us articles to read and telling us we weren’t allowed to stop and translate or look up words. We were reading for fluency rather than complete comprehension. As with one’s native language, most words can be understood contextually, and the ones that are incomprehensible can simply be looked up at a later time. His forcing us to do that early on was immensely valuable later, when I was taking 400/500 level classes. And to be honest, yes, there are always words I can’t contextualize or derivate…a handful. If audio-processing is not one of my skills, having an immense English vocabulary is one of my skills, and I can find the derivatives of most words in Spanish. Multisyllabic, snooty Latin-based words in English are commonplace words in Spanish. People with a poor English vocabulary are going to struggle with Spanish, which is why I despise Duolingo so much (and no, I still haven’t done my review on that app, but suffice to say they only accept very dumbed-down English as translation for the Spanish…why? Why, when English has so much Latin influence? ¡No tiene sentido!).

Lately, however, I’ve been watching video tutorials on the accordion. Unfortunately, as I’ve said, I’m a better reader than I am a listener. But sticking to skills that come naturally to us is a way to stunt our own growth as humans. Why do this? Why intentionally stunt our own growth? Very foolish. Or very boring. As it turns out, listening to Spanish is very much like reading it. If you don’t allow yourself to stop and translate (oh, I know, it’s hard), you can become a fluent listener in the same way you become a fluent reader. Words are understood through context. If you don’t catch every word the speaker is saying, who cares? Do you catch every word a speaker says in English? I don’t because…see above. I’ve found I can understand these tutorials just fine, and some of them are easier to understand than others. I’ll post a link to one of my favorite teachers below, just in case there are any other people out there who are determined to learn the diatonic Mexican style accordion and don’t know where to start.*

There are moments when I want my chosen hobbies to be easier. Why, for example, was I never taught to read music? We had a music class in elementary school, but the basic learning of FACE and Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge was never put to use by adapting it to playing an instrument. I suppose that was outside the school’s funding. And, of course, why do I have to struggle through music and Spanish at the same time? The answer to that latter question is obvious: I do it because I want to. I love the accordion and I love Spanish and, thus, I might as well combine the two and learn those skills the school system was ill-equipped to teach — she said through her tears. I’m sorry; I’m being dramatic. I should write a song about it all.

After reading fluently and listening fluently, I suppose the next step is to speak fluently. Growth, right? Cue the need to write another dramatic song.

*Start with this guy called Bigshow. He has hundreds of videos. Here is a link to his YouTube channel: BigShow Acordeón. You can also find him on Facebook.

**I decided to post a video of this song because I realized it has a simple accordion part. I think I could learn it, and maybe you could too if you’re learning the accordion.

…by accident.

Allow me to give you a brief history of my blogging. I started off with a blogspot…actually, two blogspots. I had one for writing and one for 18th C studies. I have no idea what blogspot is like now, but back then, you could build your blog yourself using a stylesheet. I enjoyed the process (I kept it simple); not to mention, I don’t usually prefer premade templates. None of them are exactly the way I picture my website looking.

When I started shopping around my novel Anna and the Dragon, my husband and brother in law promised to build me a professional website. This started with purchasing me a domain name on GoDaddy, moving me to WordPress (though I don’t know why it had to be WordPress), and hosting off of GoDaddy. This was the worst possible solution to having a professional website. My advice to anyone is to stick with WordPress as a host if you’re going to choose WordPress. I have no especial love for Blogger over WordPress; they both are what they are. But hosting somewhere else is a very bad idea.

So what happened this time? I broke a line of code when I updated all my plugins at once. That’s also a very bad idea. I wish I could’ve accessed the admin on my WordPress and just deleted the offending plugin because it wasn’t in use anyway, but I was completely locked out of my admin. That left me no choice but to go to GoDaddy to fix the line of code. The problem with GoDaddy is it’s impossible to find anything. Their hosting section is nested into files and folders within folders and is not usable to the average person who doesn’t understand the system or who doesn’t have a CS degree, which I refuse to get just to keep an author website presence. Somehow, mounting frustration made me act rashly, and with the touch of a button, my eleven years of blogging had vanished….

Enough is enough. Authors can’t be their own editors, proofers, formatters, marketers, website creators, admins…but this is exactly what’s expected of authors. It’s not just necessary for self-pubbers such as myself (yes, I gave up on shopping to the trad market), but it became a necessity for trad-pubbed authors as well. Long gone are the days when publishing companies would lift a finger for an author, unless that author already happened to be a bestseller making them untold millions of dollars.

And what good has all this hassle done for me, being this jack of all trades? Well, let me see: I just lost years’ worth of my blog posts (I had only two years archived) and have sold precisely four copies of my latest book. Four. Four copies. My worst sales record yet. Because I can’t be everything. And the hardest part for me is marketing, when that should be my primary skill.*

However, writing has always been a way I could communicate with the world in a way I couldn’t otherwise. That’s why I do it. That’s the point. I want to share my vision with people. If I knew how to reach people any other way, such as selling products, I would do that instead. But the truth is I don’t know how to reach people.

I didn’t mean for this post to be a whine fest. I apologize and will cut this short. In conclusion, I don’t recommend GoDaddy for hosting services unless you know how to use their system. I still don’t understand why I had to be hosted off their service; I have no idea why I kept that hosting service just because well-meaning people in my life decided I should be there. Nothing makes sense to me anymore, though. Actually, I do know why I kept GoDaddy. It was easier to use in those early years (from what I remember), and all my priorities changed when we moved to Roswell — like keeping my head above water and not drowning or drifting away into a sea that doesn’t exist where the grassland meets the desert…. I had no space in my head for considering my site host, in other words. Life is never easy, nor should it be. When it gets very difficult, though, I find myself cheering for the little things I’ve managed, like publishing any books at all. And I’ve published two since I’ve been here. That’s at least a feat to celebrate.

*The first clue I’m not great at marketing is revealing my low sales volume. You’re not supposed to do that. You’re never supposed to be negative or denigrate your work or successes. My books are great. I believe in my books. See how I bolded and italicized that for emphasis? But honestly, it’s kind of laughable how bad my sales are this time around because it means all my sales were coming from Twitter or Facebook previously, and I refuse to be on either these days. So, in addition to being a poor marketer, I have principles I won’t budge on.

Yes, but only mentally… My husband’s long-time best friend and his wife, both from Oregon, visited us last weekend. They brought fancy brewed beverages, naturally, and we made them a wonderful New Mexican dinner. I’ll write more on that later. Perhaps I won’t do a long-winded recipe post, but there is an aesthetic to New Mexican cuisine that is often corrupted by… I wasn’t going to write about that.

I was apologetic to my guests because I’d forgotten to buy good coffee for them. Oregonians are used to good coffee. I had a bag of not entirely fresh Starbucks’ French roast and Kuerig pods. Shocking, I know. Yes, I drink Keurig coffee. I’m generally the only person in my house/office, and I don’t want to make a French press just for myself that will quickly lose its heat. Thus, I do the unthinkable: I get up from my desk and brew a single cup from a pre-ground and measured pod whenever I want a fresh hot beverage. Again, shocking!

Friend’s wife, whom I wish I knew better, said she wasn’t a coffee snob like some Oregonians. This led us down a memory-road toward what Oregon used to be like. I’ve written about this before in my coffee memoirs, but it bears repeating, especially in these times when Portland has become a cesspool of homeless camps and rioting.

In my dad’s generation, Oregon — yes, including Portland — was a land of lumberjacks and fishermen. These were rednecks and hillbillies, often transplanted from the Appalachian mountains and the Ozarks. They didn’t go in for gourmet espresso shops and high-end cuisine. Their local diners served roast beef and mashed potatoes with sludgy gravy. Exotic meant a Chinese restaurant, the old-fashioned American variety with chop suey and bland broccoli beef.

In my youth, Portland was transitioning to the land of gourmet coffee and “unique identities”. I don’t exactly know why it transitioned. The locals liked to blame Californians moving in. Californians, sure. For example, environmentalists from Berkeley. Also: hippies looking for gorgeous forests that would shelter their illicit weed-smoking or magic-mushroom hunting and traveling bands like the Grateful Dead who just loved stopping in Eugene. After it was all said and done, these new people managed to shut down the lumber and fishing industries, to drive small Oregon towns into abject poverty and hopelessness, and then to gloat about it to this day

After these hippies squelched the native lifestyle, they quite promptly determined themselves to be Oregonians, true native children of the Pac NW. They claimed it and changed its identity like colonists always do. Of course, one could call the lumberjacks and fishermen colonists as well, and there would be truth in that, but at least they were following an unpretentious lifestyle like the natives had before them. Colonization has layers, see? From small native tribes hunting and fishing to what exists now: postmodern art, fancy restaurants, and roving bands of rioting communist youths who tear down statues…even the famous one of the elk. What did the elk do to them? One may never know.

There has been a push, of course, for the old lifestyle to be renewed. But there’s a far cry from hipsters donning lumberjack costumes and restaurants serving high-end “artisan” cuisine that misses the mark entirely because that roast beef and gravy dinner from my dad’s childhood wasn’t meant to be sourced from an organic cow and $10/lb organic, heritage potatoes. It was meant to fill the bellies of poor people who did hard, unforgiving physical labor that young, overfed communists will never know of, despite their romanticization of rescuing themselves from the shackles of capitalism.

I’m going to be honest; I’d rather have kept the instant coffee my parents drank than imbibe the enemies’ much better brews. Gourmet coffee is little solace to those who have been victims of cultural suicide and destruction.

I hate to admit it, but Roswell has grown on me during the pandemic. There are still many aspects of the culture here I dislike — and yet there are many heartening aspects to it, as well. Take the local state fair as an example. The governor had mandated that all visitors or vendors at the larger state fair in Albuquerque be fully vaccinated. In addition, they were required to wear masks. It’s no secret that the state fair is a big money-making venture…normally. I doubt it was this year, and that was after it was cancelled the year before, leaving the future farmers of America in the lurch with nowhere to sell the animals they’d poured thousands of dollars into raising.

But the Eastern NM State Fair here in Roswell — nah, the cops there were merely crowd and traffic control to the hundreds of people who poured in with no masks and no vaccine passes. My husband and I went on the last night, this past Saturday. Whoa! Another date! My children had already gone with their friends, leaving us to enjoy the displays and live music on our own. And it was fun! The proceeding blogpost will give you three reasons why (was that campy enough? Like a junior high why we should have summer break all year round persuasive essay?).

There’s something about childhood dreams that will always enliven the heart, no matter how old you are. Apart from all the good things that fairs have, such as local canning, quilting, baking, artwork, and flower arranging efforts, this one had a model train display filling an entire room in one of the buildings. Oh, cry my heart! I wanted an electric train so very badly as a child. I still want one, though I don’t know if I’m willing at this point to put the money and time into the hobby. I don’t think my parents were either; that’s why Santa ignored that item on my wish list.

Model trains are visual storytelling. I think that’s why they appeal to me. The tracks circle under, over, through, and around mountains, tunnels, villages and cities. There are peaceful farms and forests; cities with dire emergencies such as fires; villages where a handful of cars sit outside the local diner. Not to mention I’ve always lived somewhere near train tracks, such that train whistles are a nostalgic and comforting sound. That’s what you get with a model train. And the best part is they can be controlled these days with apps on the phone — or, at least, the guy running this one was controlling his that way.

The train was obviously number one. Number two: there were pirates. They were like one part of a circus act brought to the fair, a high wire and a giant hamster wheel as props on the fabricated pirate ship. Their routine was weird but impressive. You get the idea, I’m sure. Pirates did swashbuckling along the high wire and then chased each other on the giant hamster wheel. I don’t know why I wanted to be a pirate as a child, but there it is. Another childhood dream manifested in a cheesy fair act. I was, in fact, obsessed with pirates as a child. I read pirate adventure books. I read history books about them. I think it was their lawlessness that appealed to me. Unless they were paid by one of the world powers at the time, the heyday of pirates meant paying allegiance to no crown and setting up one’s own economy by, um, acquiring resources. Of course, as a young girl, I didn’t understand that females on pirate ships were generally captives who were raped and maltreated. But fantasies exist in a nether world, not this world.

You’ve probably already guessed that the third reason I loved the fair was the Mexican music. Yes, our local state fair either features Mexican bands or country bands due to the demographics. There was one particularly good band on Saturday night. They weren’t listed on the ads, so I think they were a last-minute replacement. They were called something like Nueva Generación (It might have been spelled with a “z”), but don’t go putting that in your Google search because you will probably only find news articles about the Mexican drug cartel of the same name. This was a young band; they appeared to be high school students or recent graduates. They were so good! They were a traditional norteño band with an accordion as well as a saxophone (though the accordionist played both these instruments, so, alas, they weren’t played at the same time). By contrast, the other two bands had either subpar vocals or timing and lost my interest fairly quickly. The first band, in fact, slaughtered one of my favorite songs, Se Me Olvido Otra Vez. Like, slow it down, dudes. Nobody can dance or sing that fast. Or they shouldn’t. I see good things on the horizon for the “New Generation” musicians, though, if they keep going.

The obvious question that arises is how does Mexican music fit into your childhood dreams? Bah, wrong question. I’ve been obsessed with all things Mexico since I was fourteen, when I took my first Spanish class. Also, I’ve always found radio play pop music to be pap, with only a few exceptions. I’ve been searching for better music since I was twelve and was much happier as an adolescent listening to my parents’ music, which included Vivaldi, Handel, John Michael Talbot (classical guitar and vocal style), and classic rock. But it always seemed that once past the era of the 1950s, the likelihood of finding complex and/or interesting instrumentation plus stellar vocals in the same song goes down precipitously (fifties’ rock still had it*, with brass sections influenced by the jazz and swing era, and vocalists such as Neil Sedaka). I found everything I was looking for in Mexican music, though I admit that many songs on Mexican radio are phoned-in and boring, just like with all popular music.

*Apparently, what I’d interpreted as fifties’ rock was often sixties’. Okay, so I wasn’t born until the seventies.

An actual good version of Se Me Olvido Otra Vez:

And just because I’m sitting here listening to him, I’m going to share my favorite singer, El Coyote: