Everyone seems to own a ukulele these days.

Everyone seems to own a ukulele these days. Good thing I'm different. I own two.

Not that I can even play the ukulele. I just own them so that I can make them jealous while I play my piano. Then when the piano gets mad at me, I grab one ukulele and I pretend to

use it as a violin, which really gets my stringed instruments in a fury. That leads to the trumpet stirring up even more of a ruckus, as only trumpets can do. But then the guitar

to hell with the guitar and the rest of it. the only instrument she wanted to play was the rusty trombone.

That trombone had seen her through the worst and best of times on the streets of New Orleans. Her father had disowned her because he hated jazz. But undaunted she had held fast to

her dreams of being the next Big Bill Bissonnette, sure that her trombone was going to take her there. One overcast day on Bourbon Street, as she was busking for coins, a tall man

who called himself Big Bill Broonzy asked her if he could jam with her and would she be kind enough to share a few of those coins she had busked. But she liked jazz, not the blues

She then played old Cro-Mags music with Harley Finnegan on drums. I knew then and there this was to be a great folded story. Allen Ginsberg agreed. The fairies celebrated my feat.

But alas. I had just 2:20 left on the timer and the "T" key on my keyboard broke and I wanted to say something with a "T" in it... but then the power went out and I ......