Do blogs wither and die if you don't feed them regularly? I guess they do, metaphorically, from lack of interest. If I'm not interested in what I'm thinking why on earth would anyone else be?

It occurred to me this morning that perhaps the reason I was so reluctant to come back and put up another post here is that I have not yet ruined this blog. It's hard to think of many other things in my life that are in as pristine condition. Not my house, which is in great disarray. Not my car, with the "service engine soon" light importuning me to pay heed as it has for months now, "soon" being far too indefinite a term to be taken seriously as a dashboard warning. Not my law practice, where my case management software chides me that I have not looked at my "to do someday" in more than two weeks (or ever, let's be frank, here) and that my "to do" list may be a wee bit unmanageable. Well, yes, I suppose that when some of the items have been pending for over three years I can accept I may have allowed it to get a bit out of hand.

But this -- it could be anything. I could think deep thoughts about the great issues of the day. I could get back in touch with that part of me that used to be able to write something more than a Chapter 13 Plan or a Motion for Relief from Stay. I might find that I have something to say beyond giving snippets of advice on a message board to virtual (or Virtual) strangers.

Or it could be that there is no there there. Maybe some day I'll get a quiet hour to put some thoughts together and I can find out.

Along with this blog, I got a Napster account. Accidentally, of course, and just so that I could listen to the song Becca had linked to on her blog, which was a perfectly nice song, something maple, or the band was something maple.

Yes, it was the first time I ever went to Napster. No, I am not over 80. I'm just not very good at being into music. And when I signed into Napster and tried to browse genres and the only thing that appealed to me was "Vocal/Nostalgia" I realized that Napster was going to know that I wasn't their kind of people. Sure enough, it crashed before I could select anything. I tried again. And it crashed. Napster and I went through this little charade about five times before I withdrew with what small amount of grace I could muster.

So, Napster, you win this round. I'll let the hip music people pick out the good music people and set links on their blogs and I'll have my Napster account so I can listen to what I'm told to listen to.

(Do we still say "hip"? I'll bet we don't. There's undoubtedly some other word; I'll ask my 12 year old. She's the cool one. Or whatever -- you know what I mean.)

I like music with intelligent lyrics and strong melodies. I like songs I can sing along to. Broadway scores, older rock & roll, big band vocals. I don't run into many people whose musical tastes align with my own. Wait, I take that back. Sometimes I'll meet a man who shares my taste in music, but then he will invariably turn out to also share my taste in men.

I used to I loved going dancing in gay bars and I had lots of harmless flirtations with guys I met. Good times.

The ones that stick in my craw are the ones who were not openly gay but would come out later, usually with a speech that went "I feel so close to you; I've never felt this close to anyone in my life as I feel to you. That's why I feel like I can say this -- I've never been able to say this to anyone before, ever. (Big pause) I'm gay." After the first few times I stopped expecting the end of that speech to be "I love you" and recognized for what it was, but the first couple of times it was a killer. And then, later, I realized that I should have known it was coming when whatever the guy in question owned more albums of Broadway shows than I did. You live, you learn.

I should have called this "accidental blog." All I wanted to do was post a comment on Becca's blog. Really, I thought I was just creating a user name and the next thing I know I have a whole blog. This is how some people become parents or countries go to war or something.

What ifsomeone actually reads this. I have an overwhelming sense of responsibility.

Oh. Just got a message -- "could not connect to Blogger.com, saving and publishing may fail." Whew! Dodged that bullet!


Or not.