This morning while I was getting into the shower I was thinking how when you’re used to living alone there are a number of things you do that you might not otherwise, like, leave the bathroom door open, stay in your jammies all morning, eat cake for breakfast, and watch The Beast of Bray Road on the Scifi channel (and yes, it is as awful as you think it is). Then I remembered reading something in a humorous men’s magazine which reminded me of Big Fat Bastard which in turn led me to the idea that Fat Bastard would be the perfect name for a magazine geared toward smart people with a warped sense of humour who live alone.
So I’m in the shower by this time, thinking about the people I would want as contributors (my sister in Singapore, my brother in Cincinnati) and what sort of articles the magazine would have, like, something to do with philology (my brother’s forté) or history, maybe some fiction, poetry, and then another light bulb goes off in my head and I think, ‘See? This is why I can’t meditate. I can’t shut up.’