Do you want read:

• The Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth
• The Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth...in Verse, or
• A Wee Tall Tale

I had been working for a while as the assistant to a screaming harridan in a 2-person office, and decided one day that I couldn't tolerate her mistreatment for even one more millisecond. I gave 2 weeks notice and my boss said, "I have a better idea, why don't you just leave right now?"

Feeling both liberated and slighty fearful, and interested in learning how this sudden transition in my life could be seen in a positive light, I contacted a Science of Mind practitioner and asked her to pray for me. She did, and I felt like I'd been transformed into a 130-lb Plexiglas box of dazzling sunshine. I knew instinctively that I was on the road to some better life, and that the abuse I was getting at this job was the kinda thing I had to slough off before I could be happy.

"But what'll I do now?" I asked my practitioner.

"Just listen to the still small voice inside, and remember that no matter where you are on the path, you always have cause to shine."

It was a Monday night, and I hadn't been to an Anti-hoot at the Sidewalk Cafe in months and months (an Anti-hoot is the only cool open-mike in NYC, hosted by the inimitable anti-folk hero Lach) and I just had an inkling that I should go. Generally, I run out of patience at open-mics; by the 400th singer-songwriter, I get a little crotchety and don't really want to hear any more about, ya know, angels-in-the-snow and hookers/waitresses/strippers with faces of angels, and angels in the beer, etc., but that night I felt like I had all the patience and all the time in the world...

Some time at about 10:00, a duo called Sheep got up and performed an original called Man From Mars, a cool, bouncy li'l tune with smart lyrics. They followed it up with a bitchin' cover of Bring the Noise. I was struck by the singer/guitarist, looking sorta sheep-like himself with unfashionably shaggy hair, computer geek glasses and a smile that revealed teeth that looked positively British in their disrepair. His voice was smooth and passionate, though, and the bass player was the most solid I'd ever heard. I got up shortly afterward and sang my song I Want Mars, and dedicated it to them. Andy, the bass player, told me later that as soon as I got up to sing, he'd instinctively switched on his omnipresent tape recorder, but I learned later that Andy is just girl-crazy and his "instincts" are in his pants. Anyway, I sang my song, and Andy got it on tape.

Next week, I went to the Anti-hoot again, and Andy came by to give me a copy of the tape he'd made of I Want Mars. "I've listened to it about a million times this week," he said, and I was flattered. He, Dave, and I struck up a friendship that culminated in their attending some gigs I was doing with my then-band, Teenagers for Nixon. And Dave, knowing that I needed a lead guitarst, asked to audition. Andy soon followed. Thus was born, Regular Einstein.

Paula was playing guitar Friday and Saturday nights at Aunt Antonio's Erotic Enchiladas after her regular shift was over (this was back when she was just an associate-in-charge of tomatoes and cheese). As dumb luck would have it, one particular night, a guy named Andy came in looking for some erotic enchiladas. Besides the tempting tostados and a side of naughty nachos, Andy got a taste of Paula's poppy and sometimes angst ridden guitar licks.

After her last set, Andy introduced himself to Paul and they talked for a while. They decided to get together and see what kind of music they could make. They began messing around together after work (musicially speaking) and soon the sperm and egg of Regular Einstein were united (figuratively speaking). They put an ad in a local trade newspaper, which has chosen to remain anonymous in this room (to protect the guilty?). In response to their ad, came Peter Green (drummer) and David Benjoya (guitarist).

The four hit it off and began rehearsing together. After some lukewarm receptions at the Erotic Enchilada, they experienced some modernate success as a group in other local clubs. Once things seemed to be progressing, they headed over to Rechord U, plunked down a few bucks (a doe and 3 rabbits) and recorded seven deadly songs. Put out on Intellectual House of Pancakes, the band found themselves with a following. Happily, a court order keeps the "following" a minimum of 200-feet from any Regular Einsteinian dwelling.

Not long after the release of "7 Deadly Songs", three of the Regular Einsteins found the fourth one struggling. Peter was having a battle of wits and wrists with his drum kit--and he was losing. A month later, he was diagnosed with carpal-tunnel syndrome and told he'd either have to give up drumming with the band or give up his other wrist-straining "hobby". The choice was obvious.....he kissed Regular Einstein goodbye (figuratively speaking--except for Paula) and went his own way.

The remaining members began their long search to replace their drummer Peter, who was the BEST but, alas, would never be part of the phenomena. They placed the following ad in the local trades in search for their missing link:

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