For whatever reason, I haven’t ever bothered to go to the trouble of coming up with a bucket list. Perhaps it’s because it simply isn’t all that important to me anyway. Unless you count Canada, I’ve never been to a foreign country, but how important is that in the grand scheme of things? There are some things I should really like to do but most may be entirely impossible. I should truly like to eradicate liberalism entirely from the face of the earth but that’s impossible because there’s a liberal born every minute, as the old saying goes. Since I was only a kid I’ve always wanted to see, in person, some of the great singers, musicians and bands I’ve enjoyed throughout the years. That’s not possible though because of the mere passage of time. All the great bands have broken up. Most of their members have died. The ones who are still among the living are as old as the hills. Everything that interests me is always entirely out of reach. As far as I can tell the entire concept of a bucket list, or a desert island list, or whatever else someone may want to call it is just a cliche’, nice in a way, but by now it’s simply gotten to the point where it’s a boring reference. Conveniently my tastes have always been quite plain and simple. My approach to things may seem, at first, somewhat apathetic, but it’s not really. I prefer to think of it as being realistic. Nothing has ever struck me as quite that irresistibly interesting that I simply can’t possibly run the risk of dying without my having gotten around to it. By that standard I’m quite free of any risk of my being inordinately smitten by anything. It’s a commendable idea to be able to take things or to leave them.