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Since I'm a glutton for punishment, I sent an email reply to the ad. I should have known things weren't quite right when I got a reply around midnight last night from the publisher, asking me to call him today.

Clara "I Woke My Mom Up Before 7 A.M. and She's Too Tired to Think of a Nickname" Jane crashed for her morning nap. Now, I cherish morning naptime. Most days, that's the only solo time I get. Any opportunity for breakfasting, blogging, knitting, reading, work or basic hygiene occurs during that precious time (anywhere from two hours to twenty minutes) when she's sawing baby-logs. I don't part with that time for much, but I thought this magazine position might be worth sacrificing a bit of my "special time".

He answered the phone, and I introduced myself. He asked what I do. I told him that I've been a regular columnist for another local publication for almost four years.

"How much they pay you?" he blurted. "Or do they pay you at all?"

Hm. We're off to a professional start, don't you think?

The publication he's starting sounds all well and good. The copy isn't ad-driven (meaning, the articles aren't just long advertisements pretending to be articles), so that's good. He's focusing on things I think are important, and I definitely think there's a market for his magazine.

"But this isn't my true passion," he told me, just as I was starting to overlook the money question and think this might be a good opportunity. "This magazine will just fund what I really want to write about."

Uh oh.

When someone tells you that they want to write about their passion, and it requires funding, it usually means either one of two things. Either:

1) His passion involves erotica for the karaoke community (or fill in whatever obscure fetish you like).

-or-

2) His passion involves being a wing-nut.

In this case, we're going with option #2.

"Things just aren't right in the world. You got kids?"

"Uh, yeah. A daughter."

"She in school?"

"No. She's only 15 months."

"Did you know anyone can walk into a public school and take your kid?"

"Why no, I didn't know that. I figured the security guards who man the metal detectors at the entrance might stop them. I enjoy my naivity."

(Ok, that's not really what I said. I can't remember what I said. I think I might have just grunted.)

"I got a gun pulled on me a few nights ago. Things aren't right in this city. Things the press won't touch. I'm going to piss people off with the things I've got to say. People are going to be pissed. Jordan, put that down! Jordan! Jordan!!! Leave your brother alone! Sorry. I have four sons. Anyway, I've got things to say that will piss people off, but that's for my next magazine, after I get this one up and running. Can I call you in a few days and we can set up a time to meet?"

Something tells me that I'm not going to be home and my voicemail is going to be on the fritz should he follow through with that plan.