Los Gordolobos

Hi. I just had perhaps what was the most awkward and possibly offensive conversation with one of our customers today. Some guy was looking all over the store, really looking like he was trying to find something. Finally, he resorted to asking me, "Hey, do you know that book with the papaya on it, it was right here." He pointed to a small bookshelf in Fiction. I knew exactly what book he was taking about. We had just sold it the day before. However, I have to ask questions to make sure I'm right.

Me: You said it has a papaya on it? (Because I talk with my hands, I shape a papaya with my index fingers and thumbs. My first mistake)

Sir: Yes.

Me: And it's cut open?

Sir: Yes. You can see the inside.

Me: Oh, I know which book you're talking about. I'm sorry, sir. We sold it yesterday.

Sir: Oh, I see... Hey, do you remember what it was called?

Me: Yeah. Eat Me.

Sir: (clearly baffled) Hmm. Alright then.

End of conversation. He walked away. I don't know if he was just retaining the information of the title I just gave him, or if he thought I was insulting him. What kind of author calls a book that? Even one who writes erotica? Whether or not it even is erotica, I think there are more clever titles to come up with than that. Whatever. Below is the book we were talking about.

Eat Me

What fictional character do you relate to most and why?

I think I would be able to relate to Amelie Poulain. She would be a great friend. Interesting and quirky. I also like Cecil from The Baxter. She's not afraid to be different, yet she is still soft-spoken. We'd probably get along. As for books, I think I'd make friends with Benjamin from The World to Come in an instant. And I hate to say it, but I'm on May's side in the Age of Innocence. As for characters more people will be familiar with, I think I could relate a lot to, uh, I'll get back to you on that one.

I just found the most awe-inspring thing on YouTube. Magical, haunting, and surreal. Listen to it and be stirred.

Jeff Buckley Recites Ulalume

Let me clue you in on the type of clientèle I encounter at when I'm at work (used book store). Little kids. Little kids who want the most obscure things that we can't possibly have a section for. There really is so much I can do. And only so many questions I could answer.

There have been these little kids who've been approaching and re-approaching the counter for the past hour or so. Collectively, they've already asked me hundreds of questions. I've had to tackle questions like:

• Do you have any Junie B. Jones books? In Spanish?
  
• Where is your Stone Cold Steve Austin section?
• Helicopters?
• I want to read a book about sharks...?

I kind of wish they'd ask me something I know. Books with chapters, general non-fiction, Sesame Street. No. Instead, I'm still dealing with:

• How come I can't open the door to the bathroom?
• Do you have any Bionicle books?
  
• I want a book about Call of Duty...?
  

Argh. I'm just pointing to the children's room/child-hurricane center. I can give answers to all these questions if only I knew where to find them. Plus these monsters always leave an ungodly mess behind. As of now I think I have to reshelve about half the store because it's been transferred from one side to the other by their little sticky sugar hands. It seems like kids' hands can never escape sugar. It's like they all eat cotton candy right before they enter the book store. I've come to expect this family every other week. That's exactly how often I'm supposed to deal with this crap. But they spend the most money than any other customer in that biweekly span. So, I guess I shouldn't complain.

...Ay, but I can't help it. The family just left...a HUGE MESS EVERYWHERE. Then I had to deal with the mom and her kids who tried to swindle me out of a few dollars by replacing price stickers, "finding" books in the discount box, and a very pushy discount negotiation. Hint: Barnes and Noble we are not, but we sell nice books at HALF the cover price. Would it be possible to go up to a B&N associate and ask for a 50% discount on a book? Pssh! Heck no. You can sign up for their club, pay $25 and then get a minuscule discount. She squeezed my soul for 10% off. I gave it to her just so I wouldn't have to see her for two more weeks. That's mean, I know, I'm sorry. They purchased over a hundred dollars' worth of books, anyway, so cool, I guess. Now I have to clean up after them. Whoopee.

It's times like these where I hope that other job works out for me. I'm getting too tired of this, this...bookery. I'm dying for something real. 

Hi. I decided to make a listblog about my favorite famous men. Some are talented, some are ridiculously good-looking, some are geniuses, but all have something about them that make them worthy of mention. In other words, they're a-ok in my book, er, blog. Anyway, I'm just going to talk about them because I think they're cool, perhaps even influential. I was thinking about putting them in some kind of order, but that might take a long time. We'll see what I come up with. I've already spent a small fortune of my time uploading their handsome mugs onto this thing. Here's the primary installment.

River Phoenix

First things first. River Phoenix. May he rest in peace. I am not particularly familiar with his fanbase or the events surrounding his death fifteen years ago, but I know that I first discovered who he was because of a teen idol calendar I got out of an issue of BOP when I was a preteen. It listed famous cute boys' birthdates. And it listed his death date. Halloween, 1993. I was mystified. An actual modern-day tragic teen idol. He was as old as I am now when he died which means that I was but a wee lass at the time. I didn't get to see any of his films until I was in high school. I had no way of actually looking him up until our technology class introduced web-based search engines and IMDB (strange how that's so commonplace now). His life wasn't catalogued anywhere in the school's library and none of my classmates knew who he was. It felt like that modern-day tragic teen idol I had imagined was false and forgotten and I almost lost hope that he ever existed. I didn't even know what he looked like until I saw him in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade one day after school. After I became an avid cinephile, I can now say that most of his film roles were bittersweet and golden. In particular, Stand by Me, I Love You to Death (so funny!), and of course, My Own Private Idaho. I don't think a guy like him is going to appear on the film scene anytime soon. It's a shame that he was a victim of his own vices. But, one thing is for certain. He was beautiful. Rufus Wainwright knew what he was talking about when he wrote his charmingly vaudevillian song about River. So young was the matinee idol.

Rufus Wainwright

Ah, Rufus Wainwright, my gay messiah. I've loved him for many years now. I had no idea who he was as I fawned over a copy of the Moulin Rouge! soundtrack I just had to get my hands on within the weeks it hit theaters. I knew who most of the "various artists" were. Beck. Duh. Bowie. Double duh. Fatboy Slim. Heck yeah (at the time). U2. Ick. And then: Rufus Wainwright. Wha? He's probably some folk-singing old hack. I was completely and life-changingly wrong. Complainte de la butte was love in audio. The melody was so plaintive, but the singing was more so plaintive. And very lovely. I have searched far and wide on the interweb to find the rarest of his tracks. I love all of his french recordings. Even the non-comprehensible Le Roi D'ys. And he is a musical genius. His compositions are epic, brassy, and WONDER in my ears.  I dream of one day seeing him live. I love each of his albums. Want One and Two: Original, fancy. Poses: a class act. Rufus Wainwright: poetic, uncommon. And his newest is pretty special too. I'd go so far as to say Rufus Wainwright has since influenced the way I listen to music, no matter what song it is. There is only one other musician who affects me this way...

Jeff Buckley

There is no way to completely describe the undeniable talent that came from Jeff Buckley. His light still burns brightly in the hearts and minds of many musicians, I'm sure. There have been countless artists who have dedicated or tributed songs to him (Memphis Skyline being one of the best out there). Like a few of the other people I plan to feature on these weekly odes, I discovered him after his life. If I were to describe the listening experience of only one song with only one word, that song would be Mojo Pin and that word would be infectious. Well, all of his songs are like this. I love Satisfied Mind, Jewel Box, Morning Theft, Lover, You Should Have Come Over, Dream Brother, New Year's Prayer, and What Will You Say? I can't say his songs are timeless, however. His voice is distinct, organic and straight out of the zany, spirited heart of the 90s. This does not mean that his numerous cover songs are null and void. He breathes new life into these songs. One of the most surprising of his recordings is his beautiful rendition of Nina Simone's The Other Woman. He made Dido's Lament a near manifestation of the tragic queen herself. Who could forget Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah? Jeff Buckley was a live wire, full of spark and vibrancy, with the voice to match. Now, more than ten years after his death, each of his heavenly melodies is a wished-for song.

James Franco

I can try to guess what you're thinking. Up until this point, I'd been making some sort of connection with one subject after the next, making interesting and appropriate segues into the next homme du moment. Well, don't laugh, but James Franco is perhaps the first person I would choose to play Jeff Buckley in a movie. There. There's your transitional phrase. I think James Franco is bad ass. And he still feels the pain of the short life of Freaks and Geeks! Or so this cutting-room floor piece suggests. Hint, it is a joke. I am a closet Tristan and Isolde fan, yes I am. Not a joke. And though I haven't seen either of the Spider-Man sequels, (a girl has to have some sense of what's good for her), I'm pretty sure he was hot in them. I guiltily admit to renting Flyboys and wishing for the movie to be better than it was. But why should I feel guilty? Isn't he a talented actor? Didn't he seamlessly play James Dean and win a Golden Globe for it? Isn't James Franco a bona fide artist? Yes. The answer is absolute. This guy is misunderstood. This guy is real. And this guy knows how to nurture his profession the fun way. With kitties.

Jude Law

Alternately, Jude Law treats his profession with grace and english-ness. He'll put your eyes at ease. Um... er... all I've been talking about thus far have been about actors and musicians. Believe me, I'm going to talk about more of them later. But do not fear, I also like poets, novelists, filmmakers, a couple of psychotic recluses and Abraham Lincoln. Since I am not too much of a science or technology-savvy kind of girl, I can't say that I know that much in the realm of superior, non-liberal arts intelligence. One notable scientist I can say I'm affected by is Al Gore, inventor of the internet. Other than that, Carl Sagan What? Steve Jobs Who? Richard Feynman Whats-its? I digress. I've got to get back on track before I type all the way to the bottom of Jude Law's picture. Oops, I already did. Oh, well. The only thing I was really going to say about Jude Law was that everyone in high school knew me as the girl who had a Jude Law photo album inserted in the last section of her binder, behind the pink divider tab labeled "husband."

I wonder if all this talk about men makes me seem too girly or weird. I just thought it would be a good idea to discuss some reasons why I like, appreciate, and have a crush on these particular lesser halves. Is that so bad?  

Hi again. Geez, I'm sick of myself. Anyway. I forgot to mention that I met Tim Rice a few weeks ago.

That's right, I said Tim Rice. What he's got to do with El Paso is perhaps a miracle of freakishness. Or something like that. It so happens that the founder/director of the UTEP Dinner Theater loved Jesus Christ Superstar so much when it came out he wrote a fan letter to both Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Tim Rice gushed, perhaps also provided encouraging words and an autograph and the founder/director peed himself with glee. They've been friends ever since.

So there we all were 25 years after the wonderful Dinner Theater was founded, sucking down champagne and munching on some hummus pitas in a large-glass-windowed lounge overlooking the Sun Bowl.

I have a very special and talented friend to thank for making that possible, by the way. As it turns out, the founder/director man took it upon himself to construct a nearly three-hour-long tribute to the Rice which included performances by the likes of Debbie (ahem, Deborah, sorry) Gibson and five other more talented-er Broadway singers. My very special and talented friend, V just happened to be in the chorus for the show and she gave me a ticket!

The show was nothing short of... well, it was nothing short. It was almost three hours long, like I said. But it was very entertaining, mostly because a.) I love Jesus Christ Superstar forever and ever and b.) That damn Circle of Life song that the whole choir did with the orchestra took my breath away. It seriously sounded magnificent. And I really mean to use the word magnificent because that was the only word I could form with my mouth after it was over.

Other highlights:

• Debbie Gibson played a really hot Evita and kept prounouncing the Argentian capital "Buay noce aye rees"
• The guy who played Judas and King Herod sang his songs really well. Rest in peace, Carl Anderson.
• The guy who played all the other major characters was pretty talented and squealed a lot. It mentioned on the program that he starred as the title character in Elton John's (ill-fated, sadly) Lestat on Broadway. Cool.
• There was one woman from the theatrical version of Hair that mangled "I Don't Know How to Love Him." She mentioned that she had never sung any of Tim Rice's songs before. It became clear that she really hadn't because she played Mary Magdalene like she was a hooker straight out of a Brooklyn red-light district circa 1968.
• The one girl who sang selections from Tim Rice and Elton John's Aida was a serious serious gem of vocal talent.
• The original Annie was there too!

Because of that show, I now am interested in familiarizing myself with Tim's other musicals including Chess (which I sang a song from at a high school musical revue) and Blondel. During one of his between-song monologues, Tim mentioned that he also did work on an obscure French musical from the late 60s (I believe). The song was so good, I really wanted to Google it when I got home but I forgot what it was called.

Ah, Tim Rice. He loves El Paso as much as any other English bloke who knows where El Paso even is. He happily stated that he's almost as famous as Marty Robbins in El Paso. Hmm... I don't know about you, Tim, but Marty Robbins was so forty years ago. The most anyone knows about him in my generation (or younger) is that he's got a park overlooking some suburban rooftops and traffic lights right before the intersection of George Dieter and Vista Del Sol. And that's if they even live in that area. No offense. Really, though, whenever I told anyone that I was going to see the Tribute to Tim Rice show, they didn't know who I was talking about. Exceptions: music majors, musical theater majors, and anyone who is involved with the UTEP Dinner Theater and/or Viva! El Paso. I'd say about half the capacity of the Don Haskins Center knows who he is.  

And then, when the show was over I was invited to meet the man himself at an exclusive after-show party by the Sun Bowl. It had a pretty nice getup. My getup on the other hand was uncomfortable. I felt like I dressed weird, having donned a sheer black ruffly shirt. I looked like a figure skater who just went to the opera. But anyway, that's just because I really had to get ready in a hurry and was short on clean dress clothes. Whatever.  

Of course, about 20 minutes into the little gettogether, Debbie Gibson bolted. I'm guessing she was horrified at having to sign everyone's programs and cassette tapes. The rest of the cast was courteous enough to remain in the room, sipping cocktails and signing posters, etc. A couple of castmembers even chatted casually with some fans, happy to take a picture or two afterwards.

Some people there, though, man. They were almost too eager to collect everyone's autographs. They ran around the room, keeping tallies of who they'd gotten to sign what and if they got flattering enough photos to put later that evening on facebook first thing. Of course, I stood in line behind these zealous people who were inclined to have the star/stars sign five zillion different items; one for each family member and/or cult follower who couldn't attend.

Then came THE moment I'd kind of been waiting for. I shook Tim Rice's hand and squealed "OHMYGODIT'SSOWONDERFULTOMEETYOUSIGNTHISPOSTER!" I calmly inserted a metallic silver-inked Sharpie in his startled hand. He was slightly red-faced from anxiety and annoyance, but I swear, I didn't do that to him. He looked like he'd been wanting to leave for a while before that.

Still, he mirrored/mocked my bright little face and signed the poster twice, once for me and once for V, since we had to split the poster because we only had one.

In those moments I kept thinking about an earlier monologue he told the audience during the show about him and Andrew Lloyd Webber. It turns out that they were just a couple of struggling guys wanting to make a hit song in the late 60s. During a time when Scott Mackenzie's "San Francisco" and the Bee Gees' "Road to Alaska" were hitting it big, it seemed like the surefire way to get a hit song was to include an American place in the lyrics. They insisted on writing one even though neither of them had ever been to America. Thus, a now-familiar tune put to the words, "I long for Kansas morning" was written. When he started to sing the song, I laughed. The lyrics were seriously despicable. It was set in the point of view of a lonely guy who was jailed in Maine and who missed everything in his dear homeland of Kansas; Kansas wind, Kansas grass, Kansas lightposts, etc. It honestly sucked. The tune was eventually reworded soon after that to be used for Jesus Christ Superstar. You probably now know this song under the title "I Don't Know How to Love Him." I'll never listen to the song the same way again.

The night wore on for just a little while after that. They gathered everyone who was still there and announced that there was cake. The speaker motioned her hand toward the row of cakes on a row of tables. Each cake featured Tim's musicals on them in bright colors. We all turned to look at the sweaty fat chef who looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion on the buttercream.

Then V met her idol, the guy who was in Lestat the Musical. I took a cute picture from my cute cell phone of them together and then decided to leave. It was an interesting evening, really fun, kind of intimidating. Tim Rice certainly knows how to write a good lyric.

Me me me. It's like I'm obsessed or something. I'm sorry, I've been all by myself all day.

I am swamped with things to do. But because it's so hot, I've become very lazy.

I've resorted to watching the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory on ABC Family.

So this weekend, I had lots of plans, but only achieved a percentage of what I wanted. There was a poetry reading last Friday. Did I go? No. And I missed a good reading. Then on Saturday, I saw Macbeth at UTEP. It surpassed my expectations. Lady Macbeth was phenomenal, what is she doing in El Paso? And some of the other players were pretty talented too. Some of the men characters even looked like Kenneth Branaugh, I'm not kidding, there were like three of his twins on stage. It was well produced and incredibly well rehearsed. A good show, I wouldn't be surprised if it won some awards. The set design was pretty low-key. A few dead trees, lots of shadows and a rotating set of stairs. I was surprised that I didn't even get bored. (I'm embarrassed to even say that, but it's true). What the heck do I know about theater, anyway?

Not Cool Patch Pants

And then, when I was supposed to go to the symphony on Sunday, I instead checked out the new history museum with a couple of friends. I felt really bad for missing the symphony because I had been planning to go for weeks, but the museum had some very interesting things to offer. One of them was a pair of "patch pants." They were part of a rock 'n' roll exhibit on the second floor. Most of it was memorabilia that wasn't really that old. It included a picture of Steve Crosno, some old Coke Machines, and a telephone booth. Really? A telephone booth? Not only did I not understand how a telephone booth has become an unfamiliar, museum-deserving object, but what does a telephone booth have anything to do with rock 'n' roll? What-ev. 

Afterward, I gave my friends an impromptu tour of what I learned in the archives at the newspaper. Then, BFF got the greatest idea ever. We should be tour guides! After we left downtown, we went to her house to plan a historic downtown walking tour. I'm not sure if we should kick it off before the sweltering summer however. Plus school is almost out, so no field trip groups. I think the fall would be ideal. We are going to plan a preliminary run next week anyway.

Steve Crosno

The museum is really well put-together and clean. It's informative and quirky and very interactive. Kudos to the El Paso Museum of History. Goody, culture!

So now, I've got to write two research papers. One is about the Mexican Student Revolution in 1968 and its influence on the literature to come out of that era. The other is a comparative argument on the main character of Saul Bellow's Seize the Day to the myth of Narcissus.

Ambitious, I know. I'm really freaking out. ... Hey, the Real World's on!

I just know that this Italian soda I had to buy to use the internet has to be just Sprite with peach syrup easy on the peach syrup. The internet is down at my house so I have resorted to A.) make a nightly pilgrimage to the UTEP library or B.) purchase a minimum of $3 at the local coffee shop. And of course there's C.) do something else.  

Tonight I have chosen B because the library closes at 8 on Fridays. Yeah, that's right, I'm alone on a Friday night. How quaint. The evening will probably end with a few chapters of Absurdistan. Maybe take in a movie rental.

Anyway, I have a lot of other plans coming up that I'm planning to blog about. Like tomorrow? I'm going to see a concert featuring the music of Tim Rice? And I'm so excited?! AND I'M GOING TO MEET HIM?!?!?!?!?!

As of now, I also still have to detail my reflections on hearing Dr. Edith Eva Eger speak I think almost two weeks ago. She was magnificent, I will say it again. I even wrote a poem about her for my honors project. It's different from newswriting, but I love poetry. I love it more this semester because of the honors course itself. I've learned heaps from it. I guess you could say that I'm relatively novice to both types of writing. This year is the very first year I've ever tried journalistic writing. And this year is the very first year (since being in elementary school) that I have taken poetry as something I would seriously pursue.

Pursue. Pursuit. I'm up for a game of Trivial Pursuit. Gah... who could I call???...

Anyway, perhaps I'll post the poem I wrote about Dr. Eger and the night she came to speak on behalf of the El Paso Chapter of the UTEP Alumni Association, breathe.

Eine Kleine Wassermusik

Plaintive melody

Charcoal speckled ballerinas

        Dancing and for sale

           Ladies gather

Gentlemen mingle

                              Easels in the corner

Theme of the gala: “She danced to live”

Water rings sift into tablecloth

     All are silent and open

       Strings in a quartet cease

Grandma Edie speaks

For us, for her, 

                       A precious guest

Trembling, hands clasped together

“In America, people don’t like to hear sad stories.”

Yet, here she found herself,

                Her life and others’

A transplant of souls

Calling for a trial

     Forging timelines

Marriage

            Children

                     Graduation

And a flooded museum

Under desert stars

The war criminal is missing

The years crumble 

   The articles crease

Dust gathers on the conscious with time

 “Maybe you will not win with my blood.”

                          Drawn twice a week

             They will rebuild

With pacifist veins 

           Found alive among the dead in 1945

    And in clip files

Only twenty years old

Universal landscape 

She speaks now of celebrations

          Constant ones,

Of dreams, of dancing,

        The Budapest Opera House

  Rise and fall

     On soft, Hungarian slippers

“Auschwitz is my cherished wound.”

                               Spoken gently

Stirs the conspiracy of silence

      Ripples on the water

                M u s i c

Hi. I'm in my room right now listening to blaring neighborhood noises commonly found in the suburbs. It's children talking and yelling, it's bass from some car speakers, it's karaoke sung by drunk neighbors. Which is where the title of the blog comes in. I just heard at least three male voices (two tenors and a bass) decry: "MI-ght as well face it, you're addicted to love!"

I am exhausted from the very first (and most likely last) yard sale I've ever had. I was left with $160 and a tan. Well, I was also left with two fully functional furnaces and a commercial grade refrigerator, too, and a whole bunch of other stuff I didn't sell but planned to. It's just way too much work and for the population that frequents yard sales every weekend, the stuff I had for sale was unable to be sold by proxy.

Most of my customers were from Juarez. None of them wanted my Hesiod, Sophocles, or Aristotle. None of them even glanced at the Paul Auster, Charles Dickens, or Pearl S. Buck. Not even for just a quarter. It felt like being at the Book Rack but backwards (because that's how much we buy books for).

They wanted the mirrors, the duct-taped fan, the box of light sockets, the lawnmower, the weed-whacker, the binoculars, the shoes, the bottle of 1/3 full sunscreen that I had in my hand and had no intention of selling. They wanted it.

They would not take the Marc Jacobs for even five dollars, nor the Bandolino dress for one.

They took the sledgehammer head, the box of plumbing knick-knacks, a set of wheels (and I don't mean a car, I mean four disembodied wagon wheels). They wanted all seven rusted, cement-encrusted bricklayer's trowels.

The things that sold were my dad's things, things found in my grandpa's tool shed, or in the back of my uncle's truck. It felt like these coveted objects began building a visual, grippable heritage as they lay there on the tarp in our yard, waiting to be taken, knowing they would be taken. It felt like my books and my fancy unworn clothes were a part of some outcast ideal, something fake. I began to wonder if what I have been pursuing all this time is vanity, and all I had to show for it was some repertoire of assigned literature and a few missteps while shopping for things that I thought would impress people. 

It felt like nobody would want it even if I gave it away.

Hey. So I've been interning all semester at the Times and they've moved me to the newsroom.* I've written three printed articles! The first was about a Good Friday choir and orchestra performance (conducted by the very prestigious Prentice Loftin, and starring several talented singers). The third was about the Abundant Living Faith Center having some kind of Spring Break convention for teens. But my second article was about a visit from Dr. Edith Eva Eger to an annual fundraising gala sponsored by the El Paso chapter of the UTEP Alumni Association and the College of Education. Phew, that's a lot of typing.

Anyway, I interviewed both the precious Dr. Eger and also the very formal and kindhearted Mary Helen Padilla, the dinner committee chair, for my article. I was very nervous because Dr. Eger is not only a celebrated graduate of the University of Texas at El Paso, but she is a Holocaust survivor. I've always treated this subject very delicately and for one of my very first articles, I felt like I had to walk gingerly in the telephone interview. It turns out that Dr. Eger was a very personable and soft-spoken interviewee. I felt very honored to speak with her, but my questions remained in the realm of "How do you feel about returning to El Paso to speak?" and "What are some of the highlights of the message you want to send to attendees?" I was urged for my questions to remain "relevant" to her visit: it's to raise money for scholarships. Well, I had a feeling that it was more than that; I scoured the clip files and found that she is one of a small community of European immigrants that came to El Paso after World War II. I found an article dated in the late 80s that profiled the lives of Holocaust survivors who came here to build a new life. All of their stories were astounding. One of them founded El Paso's Holocaust Museum (an establishment which has had a very unlucky run). Another was a twin who along with his brother was experimented on by Dr. Josef Mengele. He sought justice and spoke out against Nazi war criminals up until the final disappointing verdict (the Angel of Death could not be found). I really have to show the article to you someday.

As I continued writing and doing research in the archives, I began to really really want to go to the event. But a single reservation was $50! Speaking with the committee chair was fun, as she was very easygoing and pleasant. She even offered to accomodate me if I was going to write a follow-up article. I asked my superiors and I was denied. Such is the fate of an intern. Luckily, my aunt's law firm reserved a table at the gala with extra seats so I was able to go after all!

Odds are, they won't assign me a follow-up, so I thought I'd write one up to put on here.

First, though, if you want, you can follow this link to read the actual story.

*Just to tell everyone, my views do not reflect those of the El Paso Times or its affiliates. All disclaimer-like.