“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Johnson. He’s in a coma.”

“That’s terrible, Doctor. And to think Herb was just fine this morning. Now look at him, all wired up like that, he reminds me of the sound board at The Other Ones concert.”

“He does at that, doesn’t he, Mrs. Johnson? Can you tell me what happened?”

“Well, Doctor, today started just like any other day. We were going over the new tour listings on Pollstar.com.”

“Oh? I take it you and your husband love concerts.”

“You bet, Doctor. Just last week we saw Alan Jackson and Willie Nelson, and the night before last it was Galactic. We’re crazy about concerts.”

“I understand. It’s like I always say, `A great show, like Bob Dylan or Kittie, is good for what ails you.’ But you were talking about what happened this morning.”

“Anyway, Herb was looking at the new dates on Pollstar.com, when suddenly he started complaining about India.Arie’s schedule. That’s when he slumped over in his chair and his eyes rolled back into his head.”

“Say no more, Mrs. Johnson. I’m nuts about India.Arie, and the record label has put out one false schedule after another. I tell you, it’s enough to drive a music lover crazy.”

“You mean?”

“Concertus Tentativitus. One of the worst things that can happen to a brain. You see, Mrs. Johnson, a person can only take so many schedule revisions before the brain revolts. The human psyche wasn’t meant to take so much punishment.”

“Is there any hope for him, Doctor?”

“Only time will tell, Mrs. Johnson.”

“And to think we had tickets to see Social Distortion tonight, and next week it was going to be String Cheese Incident, but.. but… Oh, Doctor, if only I could speak to him one more time. There’s so much I have to tell him.”

“Well, Mrs. Johnson, I can give him an injection that might bring him around for, say, five minutes or so. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Do it, Doctor. Go ahead and give him the shot. Five minutes with my Herb is better than nothing. Go ahead and do it.”

“Okay. Here goes. There. It looks as if the shot’s working. Whatever you have to say to him, Mrs. Johnson, you better make it quick. I don’t know how long this will last.”

“Right, Doctor. Herb? Herbie? Can you hear me?”

“Uh… Martha?”

“Herb? There’s something I need to ask you, Herbie. Can you hear me?”

“Yes. Martha. What is it?”

“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU PUT THE SOCIAL D TICKETS? I’VE LOOKED ALL OVER THE HOUSE AND I CAN’T FIND THEM ANYWHERE. COME ON, SPILL IT! WHERE DID YOU PUT THE DAMN TICKETS!?!?”

“Easy, Mrs. Johnson. Calm down. He can’t hear you anymore. He’s slipped back into the coma.”

“Gosh, Doctor. I’m sorry. You must think I’m some kind of uncaring person.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Johnson. I can understand how frustrating it is when your husband misplaces the concert tickets and then slips into a coma.”

“You can?”

“Oh, sure. However, there is one thing I’m not too clear about, Mrs. Johnson.”

“What’s that, Doctor?”

“Did you really have to hit him that hard?”