“Oh, hi, Grandpa. I’m just looking up the dates for some of my favorite performers, like Janet Jackson and that Paul Simon tour with Brian Wilson on Pollstar.com.

“Really? Did you know I invented Pollstar.com?”

“Oh, Grandpa, not again.”

“I was working with Albert Einstein back in, oh, it had to be 1904. I was working on digital tour date distribution while he was pondering the mysteries of the universe. Then one day we got our notes mixed up and the theory of concertivity was born.”

“Concertivity?”

“Yep. Entertainment equals music times the size of the commission multiplied against itself. Good ol’ e=mc(squared). One of my best moments.”

“Sheesh, Grandpa. You and your stories. Oh, look, they added multiple London and Paris shows for Madonna.”

“Madonna? Did you know I discovered her? Taught her to dance and everything. Even gave her the title to one of her biggest songs.”

“Yeah, right. Oh, look, there’s new dates for Juan Gabriel.”

“She had written a song about anorexia. She wanted to call it ‘Like A Purgin'” but I set her straight.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“Why not? I’ll have you know I’ve hung out with many artists.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“I’ve discussed hygiene with Sting, went varmint hunting with Ted Nugent, even gave Robert Plant one of his biggest hits.”

“Stop right there, Grandpa. I might believe you knew Einstein, maybe even that you met Madonna, but Robert Plant? No way.”

“It’s true. I was telling him about the time I was in that big earthquake back in the 60s. I was driving over to Bob Dylan’s beach house to teach him how to play the electric guitar when it hit. The ground was shaking so bad that I drove right off the road and into a gigantic hole in the ground. And if that wasn’t enough, the tide was coming in. It was seeping through the ground and filling up the hole. I was trapped.”

“Gee, how did you get out?”

“Well, there I was. The hole had to be 20, maybe 30 feet deep. The walls went straight up. There was no way I could climb out. At least, not without some help.”

“What did you do, Grandpa?”

“Well, I was quite the hippie in those days. I grabbed my trusty Swiss army knife, and cut off all my hair.”

“Then what?”

“I made a rope out of the hair, and managed to lasso the “Highway 7″ sign at the top of the hole. Then I climbed right up the side. Just like I scaled Everest with Sir Edmund Hillary back in 1953.”

“And you expect me to believe that? That you used your hair to climb out of a crack in the Earth? And that Robert Plant wrote a song about it?”

“Sure. You’ve never heard of “Hairway to 7?”

“You know, Grandpa, I really should talk to your doctor about increasing your mediation.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to hear about the time I talked Moby into shaving his head?”