My Mom used to tell me that I was a miracle of modern science. I thought she was putting me on but, while high on Absinthe during the rainy season, she let on that I was the accidental byproduct of genetic experimentation by the ancient Druids. Despite my age, nearly 1500 years, and origins, my parents treated me no differently than my siblings, Droob and Baat.

     It was an idyllic upbringing, quite honestly, as the ancients left us alone for the most part.

     Like most of my generation, I have fond memories of the Beatles--sharing scones (“pills”, they called them) with the four of them on a break at the Cavern, prancing about in Eric Clapton’s garden while George fiddled with a new composition he called “John is a Wanker” (later settling for “Here Comes The Sun”), dropping acid with Peter Fonda, and so on. They were carefree, halcyon days that defined our generation and left me largely ineffectual in my adult years.

     But I digress. Or maybe I don’t. Hard for me to tell these days. I now find myself providing lead vocals for a Beatles cover band. Thinking back on it now, guitar lessons probably wouldn’t have been a bad idea. I’ve certainly had the time. Hindsight, as they say. But, no use crying over spilled milk. Indeed.

     All in all, I can honestly say that, with the exception of my family, few things have brought me greater joy over the centuries than this band and I am grateful to my bandmates for taking me in. I hope that you will join us often. I need a nap. Dr. Robert?