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If I had a band, it would be a big 10-piece band, and we’d do jazz and torch songs. We’d have a couple of sax players and trumpets, a piano, violin, a viola, drums, upright bass and a singer.

Our name would be — because sounds too much like a porn movie. I’m kidding, of course. The name of our band would be .

And I would have a smoky, yet smooth voice, I would sing some songs, but I would also love to play piano and the viola. (I used to want to play the violin, but I’ve changed my mind. I think I want to buy a viola and get lessons when my youngest graduates from college. We’ll have to wait and see, I might change my mind again.) And we’d play in dark piano bars and hotels after hours, and in airport lounges.

Or, if I had a band, it’d be an all-women “hair” band straight from the ’80s, hard rock — playing ballads of power. My hair would be black. Or white. Or black and white. And always windblown, even when I’m indoors. I would not play an instrument, I would only sing — my voice would be my instrument. I would be the female equivalent of Chester Bennington, a master of the sustained power scream — full of rage and strength and beauty.

The rest of the band would consist of the drummer, the guitar player and the bass player.

The band’s name would be . And we’d play dive bars and small venues, like the Bluebird, Marquis, Soiled Dove Underground, these little places around Denver.


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Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.

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