It all started one bleary sun burned day way back in 2003. Tucson was baking another cancer coated shell of UV death rays... and then she entered through the door with a shitty green tom in her hand. 'Hi, I'm Marisa', she stated as her eyes glanced downward and she trudged up to what would become Lagoon's make shift practice space. Later she would tell Pat, 'David's kind of a hard ass, no? Ha!' Several years later, and some things never change, but deep inside a torch still burns bright. Freakasaurs run amok. Strattera dependent. Woodie plays lots of notes.