“Yes, Doctor?”

“The results of your physical are excellent, Mr Johnson, for a man your age, of course. However, I am concerned about your blood pressure. Have you been experiencing any stress, lately?”

“Stress? Ha! I’m a concert promoter.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do nothing but worry. Will Outkast arrive in time for the show? Can I book the sports arena for Bryan Adams? Will I make enough on the Eve 6 show to cover the advance for Wang Chung? I gotta tell you, Doctor, my life is nothing but stress.”

“Even so, Mr. Johnson, you’re in remarkably good shape.”

“But what about the pain in my lower back?”

“It comes with age.”

“It does? I thought it came with Van Morrison. What about my stomach problems?”

“Nothing to worry about, just a little indigestion. Just follow the diet in this brochure and you shouldn’t have any problems. Believe me, Mr. Johnson. You’re fine. You’re just getting older, that’s all. But I do want you to cut down on the stress.”

“But I told you, Doctor, I’m a concert promoter. Every day is a new ordeal in worry and self-doubt. What if tonight’s show doesn’t sell out? What if my competition outbids me for Bob Dylan? What if Pollstar.com scoops me on my U2 announcement? With all the problems I face each day, it’s no wonder my hair turned gray. That is, the hair that I still have after that Diana Ross & The Supremes date last summer.”

“You’ll just have to learn to relax, Mr. Johnson. And don’t worry so much. There’s more to life than business deals and sold out shows for B.B. King, Ben Harper and Karla Bonoff.”


“So you have some gray hair. Or you have occasional back and stomach problems. Or maybe your bladder isn’t as strong as it used to be. You’re still in better shape than most men your age.”

“My age? But, Doctor. I’m only 25.”

“Hmmm. Sit down, Mr. Johnson, I have some very bad news for you.”