In the Name of the Father

For some reason, I've just watched most of midnight mass, which was broadcast, with a commentator, live from St. Patrick's Cathedral. Cornelia and I bandied about our childhood Catholicism. She was an altar girl apparently, who was "fired" for cracking up on stage, I mean, on the altar. I had no such stories.

I did mention how the 11 o'clock mass was my favorite to attend, because that's the one all the cute girls went to. Shameless, I know, but who really cares now? I stayed inside all day. A friend of mine and I were going to hook up to discuss our business venture, which I'll get to in a minute. I kept telling her to call me back to see where I was, which she did quite patiently, but I finally had to succumb to my exhaustion. We're going to hook up Monday afternoon. So this business venture.At a party a few weeks ago, we were talking and I mentioned after a few beers that I was lacking something and felt that I had to "get my word out." What that word is I'm not sure. But I said that the only way I felt I could do that, besides terrible slam poetry, was to have a magazine. Her eyes lit up and she told me she also wanted to start one.

So we're gonna give it a shot. I realize I'm taking a chance by putting such notions into the universe, but it's going to be on my mind for some time. She's incredibly intelligent. Her name is Erica (scroll a bit for photo) and she was my T.A. for modernity last fall. Our official meetings will commence on Monday. We've already got someone interested in helping with the business-side advisement. So we'll see what happens. I will force myself to venture out tomorrow. I'm going to Fandango a Cold Mountain ticket and then I may head uptown to take a look at those holiday windows I've heard so much about. Because I'm so into the holidays. But I may just opt to read and write instead here in Brooklyn. Hopefully tomorrow will yield some better blogger fodder. Till then...