It Ain't About The Money...

My latest publication is a 190 word piece called Smoked at Burst, a U.S Ezine that pays $10 for each item they put on their website. Not bad for a few minutes work, sure, but it's a cheque, and sitting here on my desk in Scotland, it doesn't really mean much to me.

I could take it to a bank, and they'll charge me £10 for what they call administrative costs, leaving me with a grand total of - £5.11! The publication actually costs me money. The alternative is that it sits here, never to be Sterling, never to be spent.

Like I said, it ain't about the money...

It's just as well, ain't it?

This Is Not A Movie Review...

I had been waiting for a long time to see Rocky Balboa. I never got to see any of them at the cinema, and the promise of this final installment getting back to its roots had me excited for the last six months.

And it is true to its word. It shuns the Hollywood glitz of numbers III and IV, and is a more uplifting final page to the franchise than number V attempted. As Stallone said in an interview about the film, it is the true sequel to the original masterpiece, and the send off the iconic character deserved. Finally, we have came full circle, and the story of one of cinemas greatest heroes has now been completed.

Say what you like about Stallone (and a lot of people do), Rocky is the part he was born to play, and he has been doing so for thirty years. Sure, perhaps it is time now to hang up the gloves for good - I agree - but Stallone manages to wring so much pathos out of Balboa that he may as well have the Italian Stallion stamped on his passport. Sly is Rocky, and I think he gets an unfair rap because of it.

It's great to see Stallone back on form, and even better to see Rocky, the perennial underdog, get his dukes out for one final round on the big screen.

Now, John J....

Now Eye See You...

So, after the trauma of sitting in the dentist's chair, I also went for an eye exam this week. The wife obviously thinks whatever could be wrong with me, is. I've not had my eyes checked since I was about twelve, and they were fine then. What could have possibly happened in the last eighteen years?

I'm sitting in this room, and the cute little optometrist (I could see her well enough...) had me sit down while she got the charts ready. One eye, then the other. Oops, the left eye is definitely not quite so pin-sharp. Is that an 'N' or an 'H'? Wait a minute. Deep breath. It's about a millimetre across for Christ sake! Even Superman couldn't read that! Fake it. It's fifty fifty. 'H'. Yeah, definitely 'H'.

Then she comes right up to me - close enough so that I can taste her perfume - and says she wants to check the back of my eyes with this torch. Up, right, left, up to the right, up to the left. I tell you, it isn't often a woman tells me to look down her blouse... Too bad the lights were low - I couldn't see a damn thing.

Now look into the light, she says. Now away. Now back into the light. Lady, you're supposed to be protecting my eyes. Has she spoken to my dentist? I think I'm having some kind of post-ironic week.

Anyway, I don't need the Coke bottles after all, so I'm good for another eighteen years.

Hoffman Has Nothin' On Me...

So I had to go to the emergency dentist on Friday afternoon. It's true what they say: toothache is worse than childbirth. Don't let any woman tell you otherwise.

I am not registered with a dentist - have not been for many years. I know, my bad. I don't really know why. I never had a bad enough experience to give me legitimate cause. I broke my tooth about a year and a half ago on a pizza crust. Never hurt until this week, and then, boy oh boy did it hurt. The wife said, I told you so, but then, she is always supportive like that.

So now I have a man with ten fingers in my mouth saying: is this sore? is this? how about NOW? What do these guys expect you to do - sign language? What's the sign for stop, you're killing me here? Perhaps the sharp pulling back of your head enough to let them know. I'm thinking, if Marathon Man presses any harder he's going to knock my tooth out anyway, painful or not. Who needs instruments when you push like that? Wait a minute, I didn't sign up for this gig!

Finally, examination over, he gave me the option of root canal or extraction. I wasn't prepared to pay hundreds of pounds for three more appearances under the light, so I settled for getting it whipped out instead (although, as he was mainland European, and his English was not precise, he said teeth instead of tooth, so when he told me he was going to have to take my teeth out I fell out of that big ol' dental chair).

Now I'm on penicillin to get rid of that pesky infection caused by the absess, then I'm back in that chair. I'm still in pain, so go easy on me.

Two Legs Bad, No Legs Worse...

This morning I awoke at about 3. There was a beep beep beep somewhere in the house. An alarm. It wasn't my watch, or the clock on the bedside cabinet. What the hell was it? I went from room to room looking for this mysterious sound. Just when I decided that it was in my head and not in the real world, I went to the toilet...

...and there was the culprit.

It was a goddamn mirror! Yeah, that's right. What the hell? Staring at my reflection I even managed to catch how daft I thought that was.

I was given a fog free shaving mirror for Christmas. Great and long overdue. But, question: why in the name of all that is sensible do I need an alarm on my bloody bathroom mirror? That is where guys shave these days, isn't it? Am I shaving too long? Is it in case I forget to get out of the shower when I'm done? Am I falling asleep on the pot without my knowledge? If I am then yeah, maybe I do want an alarm next to the loo roll, but otherwise, no. Let me shave in peace, please.

Bargain Of The Week...

So, yesterday I was in [insert ubiquitous supermarket chain], shopping for nothing in particular when I found Million Dollar Baby on DVD for £2.84! Excellent. How good is that? I spend more than that on my tea break at work. I lose more than that every week! Fact: the best movie of 2006... OK, so it was actually made in 2004, but I didn't see it until last year, happy? If you haven't seen it I urge you to check it out.

Lump-in-the-throat time, even for a hard man such as my good self.

We're All Going On A...

...Summer Holiday... well, not all of us - the wife and I.

The thing is: where to?

We have narrowed it down to these three destinations, and we're thinking of May - a good birthday present for me (7th), except I'll be the one forking out for it!

*Orlando (theme parks, etc, etc...)
*Caribbean (cruise - St. Lucia, Grenada, lots of rum...)
*Australia (the whole thing, the big tour, coast to coast...)

I'm easy, really. Any one of those places would suit me fine. She's been to two of them; I've been to the other. I guess we should do all three. What do you think the total cost would be for a trifecta?

Coincidences...

On December 30th I received an email from a name I didn't recognise. You're always wary of them, because who knows what viruses are lurking, but the subject line read: The Blueblade Warriors, and that, was familiar.

Dear Brian,
I stumbled across and enjoyed your story The Blueblade Warriors at Fools Motley and was wondering how come you named your Second Knight "Basquille"... just curious

Regards
Andrew Basquille

The Blueblade Warriors is a rather quickly written comic fantasy piece which became one of my early publications in 2005 at the now defunct Fools Motley. Very briefly, Basquille, the Second Knight of the Realm, has a lifelong dream to be in a bluegrass band. How obscure is that? I wonder why he doesn't pull my other leg: it has bells.

PS Coincidentally I occasionally sing and/or play guitar with a bluegrass band...

Oh my God! I'm looking over my shoulder to see if Rod Serling is there, you know? After I picked myself up off the floor I checked out his web address.

Well I'll be damned.

...Looks like my Second Knight fulfilled his dream after all.

Thanks Andrew.