As I mature gracefully into my little part of the mid-forties I am reminded constantly of bucket lists or at least a perceived need for one. It is with fascination that I look at the bucket lists of others, or is it with fear that I look at them? Think about the consequences of 5000 85 year old women skydiving at the same time, I shudder to think of the broken hips alone. Sure I could buy a '58 Corvette, or hike across Europe but that's too easy. My foray into that bucket list can only go through the world of music but I refuse to write anything that can be used against me. Wait what?