I am having difficulty concentrating today, owing to a variety of circumstances, so let's just open up the old mailbag and see what we've got!

Here's something from Scarlett, who reminds me of "how we used to play that game in which you had to name 3 bands/performers that you had never seen but hoped to see before you died. Then talk about which 3 bands you would name if you were playing the game today."

OK! Let's see. Well, first off, I remember we used to play games when we worked together at Hades, Inc., but that one doesn't ring a bell. We played "Exquisite Corpse" and "Rochambeau," because it was important always to look very busy, to avoid getting canned. Like a lot of companies, Hades, Inc. used long-term temporary employees to fill in gaps in their workforce, avoid paying benefits, and enjoy the luxury of canning us (yes, I was a temp) when work was slow or attitudes were unacceptable.

There were about seven temps in the production department, and the regular employees lorded their permanent status over us at every opportunity, most obviously by referring to us collectively as "temps," while we were in earshot, as in this example:

Employee 1: "Someone should tell the temps not to wear jeans."

Employee 2: "Yeah, I'll tell Joan to write them a memo about it."

Meanwhile, all the "temps," none of whom were wearing jeans, were ten feet away. And a couple of days later, a memo would be posted on the wall, with the word TEMPS highlighted, alerting us that we weren't allowed to wear jeans.

The job was convoluted and involved multiple revisions and corrections to each document we produced, so there were frequent production meetings, to which the temps were not invited. We got used to Craig, the manager, calling out, "Everyone? Production meeting! Right NOW! EVERYONE! Oh, except the temps." Whatever--it's not like we wanted to go discuss what color rubber stamp ink was running low, and anyway, the absence of the regular employees allowed us the opportunity to play games. One day, Craig called an impromptu meeting, and stood in the doorway calling, "Everyone! EVERYONE come to this meeting, RIGHT NOW!" I was long past being fooled by his "everyone"s, so I didn't move, but as the room emptied, he stressed, "EVERYONE! I mean EVERYONE!" He was getting petulant. I gradually got the idea that this meeting was somehow different, so I sheepishly joined the group.

I was walking behind Craig, casually pondering the back of his taupe satin suit, when he wheeled around to check our progress. "This way, everyone!" he called, then suddenly noted my presence, and with a startled look, said, "Oh... Not the TEMPS!"

Somehow, in my status as temp, I had sunk below the level of even the collective "we." It was not, shall we say, the career I had envisioned for myself.

But anyway! Let's get back to mailbag. So, the three bands I must see before I die, let me see, let me see, let me see...

1. Jim White
2. Jack White, solo, with only me as audience
3. Johnny Depp.

I realize that Johnny Depp is not, technically, a band, but I don't care. He knows how to play the guitar, and so I will add to No. 3 "solo, with only me as audience."

Star of the day. . .Lou Reed