Nixta Sinks

Down at my favourite bar, the Musical Box (which doesn't get a plug because the proprietor does an excellent job of promoting it on his own - and I don't count it as a plug unless it's a hyperlink coz you can't e-drink yet, as far as I'm aware), I frequently bump into an fascinating character by the name of Jason Brody.

This relatively young (so I discovered the other day) fellow (which I had assumed from early on) has within his diminutive yet well-proportioned frame a great deal of creative talent. Not only is he a writer of some drive and quality, and a copy-editor to make ends meet (for example, he's really turned on by this stuff), but he is a talented musician. Earlier this year he released his first solo album and has been playing gigs in support of it since (some of them even attended by audiences). He's now about to begin work on his next album (known to many as his second album) which he's looking forward to on the grounds that he's got a band to play some of the instruments now and might be able to sleep for a few hours each week. Not that he does sleep much, apparently. His standard entrance to the bar is marked by a yawn atop of which are perched two desparate darkened eyes that don't look altogether comfortable in such close proximity to one-another. Honestly, he mostly looks like he's just about to contemplate himself to death and I use this as an opportunity to see whether I can in some way accelerate his demise. I am proud to include in my armoury such diverse waepons as anti-semitism, dwarf jokes, observations on his shoddy guitar-playing and jibes at his femininity.

I'm also picking his brains on his real passion: With his master's degree, he has fascinating insight into the schooling of creative writing (I've always been a scientist in mentality, if only a dropout in achievement). The poor chap must be exhausted by my incessant and moronic questioning. I hope to herd him back to writing though (which transition he professes an understandable fear of), so I see it as an altruistic effort on my part, for which I expect to be rewarded suitably by those that be in power and all that up above like sort of thing. Innit? See, with my grasp of the word things, the novel is just waiting for an idea and its gonna write itself!

In other news, Renos finds himself the target of my remaining nagging in an effort to get him to paint again as he once used to. Slowly, and with great Brandy. He recently managed to get himself thrown out of the final 10 of Channel 5's Big Art Challenge on the principle that he wouldn't talk about his painting with no fucking crickets [sic] and who did they think they were to give him prizes, those paedophile perverts! Translated into English: What kind of critics were they if they had to ask the artist to describe the painting? Good point really and finely made (for those of you lucky enough to catch the episode), though there's some "artistic flair" in his delivery of course, which probably didn't help his way to the £10,000 grand prize.