Despite having sworn that she would never ever play her big sax in a marching band of all things, she could not resist the Pied Piper-like lure of the HMB at the 2001 Siren Festival, and followed them down to the waterfront (but stopped there, fortunately or not).

Despite weekly complaints that she wished she played the flute, she now has stronger fingers than she ever thought possible (that's hypertrophy of the interossei and lumbricals to you). Nothing in her previous musical experience, from the University of Edinburgh student orchestra, to the Boston radical drag cabaret troop, Adult Children of Heterosexuals, prepared her for the gusto (and costumes) with which HMB delights the starving masses.

A head turner and Sesame Street sound will never be the same. Brilliantine molder of pulpimess through vaporous exchange or the firedamp in her twice lung. The mind is a glob of stuff she will work it like a olericulturist until the hothouse tomato leaves you for the summer fields of spain.

Have you looked to the sky to see Venus? It's there so is this one.