No, that’s not the introduction to the one Beastie Boys song I hate so much I can’t even type its title. I don’t have a Bucket List. As I’m not approaching death, at least I hope I’m not, I have no reason yet to create a list of things I want to do before I die. I’ve always found things like rather morbid, if I’m being honest, and more to the point, something I’d put down on my list at age 33, I might have no interest or capability of doing whenever the end is nigh. I’m already depressed enough — I don’t need to make it worse for myself by dwelling on something I’d like to pretend will never happen.