Where did all those gray hairs come from? When did my jowls start dropping like that? Why do my ears hurt whenever my cell phone rings?

When did I start looking so old?

I really shouldn’t complain. After all, I’m a successful concert promoter, responsible for bringing big-name talent like Incubus and Phish to my town. But I fear that dealing with agents, managers and venue owners has taken its toll on me. Wrinkled skin, a sore back and even sorer ankles, sometimes I feel as if I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. Where has the time gone?

I’ll tell you where it’s gone. I’ve spent my life haggling over appearance fees for Britney Spears, begging agents for additional dates for Madonna and removing brown M&Ms for Van Halen. My hands are riddled with arthritis from signing contracts for Jessica Simpson, and I no longer check out the groupies wanting to meet Metallica or Anthrax. Unless, of course, they’re trying to sneak in without buying tickets.

Yeah, it’s no fun watching my body deconstruct before my very eyes. I’ve devoted my best years presenting shows by Prince, Sarah McLachlan and Norah Jones, and what do I have to show for it? Sagging cheeks and thinning hair. And my face looks even worse.

And to make matters worse, today is my birthday. Like I need any more reminders that I’m one year older than yesterday. I look at all the birthday cards sent to me by the artists and bands that I’ve promoted over the years – Elton John, Sting, Shania Twain, Fleetwood Mac – and I want to scream out; “YOU DID THIS TO ME!!”

But I can’t. My staff is waiting in the next room. They’ve spent weeks planning a birthday party for me, and I shouldn’t disappoint them. My body may ache from doing shows with Boston, my vision may be fuzzy from reading the fine print in contracts Courtney Love and Steve Winwood, and my hands might quiver from signing agreements for The Wallflowers, but I can’t disappoint my staff. I’ll show them that, no matter how much wear and tear the old body has taken from being a concert promoter, I still know how to party.

After all, your 25th birthday only comes around once in life.

I just hope they don’t expect me to blow out the candles on my cake. I just don’t think I have enough wind.