So this younger feller I know comes up to me on his twenty-eighth birthday and declares "Man, what a weight off my shoulders. It's such a relief to finally turn twenty-eight." Being the knuckle head I am, I took the bait, "Why?" "Being twenty-seven was really stressful," he continued "cuz of what can happen, ya know?" Mildly puzzled and irritated at my self for getting sucked into his vortex, I reply, "what the hell are you talking about?" "Shitgoddamn, you know. Jim Morrison died when he was twenty-seven. Janis Joplin died when she was twenty-seven. Jimi Hendrix died when he was twenty-seven. Kurt Cobain died when he was twenty-seven. Do you see the connection there? I was twenty-seven." Again, puzzled. "Hmm," I said. "Oh, I get it. You are a heroine-addicted, world-renowned rock star. Were you you affraid you were going to overdose or blow your brains out?"