Yes, I am a slut for the blues

I love the blues. Just like I love rock and roll. Those are two of the most important things you should know about me. You can get me off topic and out of a conscious and coherent train of thought by playing something I love in either genre. If you can say there is a bright side to anything that came out of Hurricane Katrina, it's that B.B. King and New Orleans blues were permeating the media and rock musicians (bless their altruistic, drug-addled hearts) broadcast huge charity concerts in its wake. I've been wallowing in it all like a pig in shit.

I have also recently become single after 18 years in an exclusive relationship. Not a marriage, because I don't believe in that, but as close as you can get to it without a ceremony, legal sanction, shared bank accounts, and a ring. I'm just beginning to digest and absorb my reaction to this state. Thus the inspiration (along with some encouragement from IRL and cyber friends) to blog.

Let me say right from the start that this isn't going to be one of those sob sister kind of things where I get all touchy feely exploring the existential implications for a mid-fortyish, still somewhat thin and attractive, menopausal, career woman alone in the world (although that sort of describes me). I'm not that kind of woman. Nor will I go all militant feminist on your ass. I'm not that kind of woman, either. What I will do here, I hope, is just be me. I'm not quite sure what that is exactly, but that's my aim. I like politics and arguing about them, I like reality tv, I like books, I like sex. That's probably what I'll talk about most. But I could talk about anything. At any time. That's your only warning.