Draize Test for Homo Sapiens!

If this is scary, imagine the poor plight of lab animals who still routinely suffer across cosmetic and pharma labs around the world!

Destination Moonbase Alpha (1978)

Cheesy Lunar Thrills from the 70s ! 

Destination Moonbase - Alpha was the pilot for Space: 1999 and a Gerry Anderson (Thunderbirds) production - perhaps the cheesiest sci-fi TV series that ever was. And I watched them all last week on a DVD induced trip to 70s-80s Sci-fi nostalgia. 

Anyway, we all know the premise, right? A celestial catastrophe knocks the moon out of orbit and Moonbase Alpha’s 311 crew are cast drifting in the "dark galaxy of the universe" for four or five seasons. The first episode already dangles a frustrated hope of salvage for the rundown moondwellers - a spacecraft called a "swift" filled with the crew’s friends, family and lovers visits the base, and the castaways are told that a contingent of rescue spacecraft is on the way to fly them back to Earth at speeds exceeding that of light. But everything is not as rose-colored as it seems. 

Commander Koenig (a miscast Martin Landau), having received a "brain scan" to get him back up and running after he went a little silly earlier, sees not friends and family but hideous latex monsters when he sets eyes on the visitors from the "swift." Try as he might to convince Helena (Barbara Bain) and the other Alpha crew members that the visitors are invading aliens and not saviors from Earth, he can’t get anyone to believe him. Finally he manages to talk his shapeshifter friend Maya into undergoing the "brain scan," which gets her seeing the monsters, too. She assumes the form of one and tries to infiltrate them - fruitlessly, it turns out, but she does learn that they are a species who feed on radiation. 

In the interest of rustling up some fare the aliens have fiddled with the Alpha crews’ minds to scam them into setting off a nuclear explosion. Commander Koenig quashes the aliens with a few well-selected fistfights and in the end the moon is free to zigzag through space unmolested. 

My view of the 70s has changed fundamentally since I revisited Space: 1999. Its forecast of the future are astoundingly clunky and primordial: the moonbase ís state-of-the-art medical wing looks like a silly Jiffy Lube, peppered with oscilloscopes and blinky, buttony science fair school projects, and the bases intercom is a black-and-white, closed-circuit video network much like the anti-shoplifting surveillance systems you still find in small liquor stores and pawnshops. They do have something that looks a bit like 3 1/4-inch floppy disks - which puts them above Rollerball (one cheesier classic of those days) in terms of accurateness, the latter film prognosticating reams of punch cards for the 21st century. 

Outside of this, though, Destination Moonbase - Alpha provides more hysterical than prophetic insight for the viewer in the late 90s or the current 2000s. The show’s closing point - that real life, no matter how mind-numbing, is preferable to fantasy, no matter how heavenly - is particularly old-world. 

In an era of creative revelation, it must have seemed natural to imagine that a future utopia would give supreme value to objective reality. Little did those TV writers of the 70s know that these out of date notions, far from enjoying a comeback, would be further damaged in the succeeding thirty years by social construction, deconstruction, and assorted other theories holding everyday reality to be just as fragile as the nice dreams the aliens offer the Alpha crew. But then again, it is easy enough for me to say this - retrospection, after all, is twenty-twenty. 

Besides, Destination Moonbase-Alpha’s opening Star Wars like homage actually sets the film in the year 2100 , so maybe there is still a little time for impartiality to come back into favor and vindicate Space: 1999’s currently out-of-vogue traditionalist loyalties. Gentlemen (and ladies): place your bets now! 

Free Streaming/Movie Download - Video Link: VeeHD

Fighting Internet Paralysis

Getting Back Online!

All right, so, erm, here I am, back again. This feels exceeding weird after such a long absence and I'm not quite sure I remember all the things to do...

I had a lot of travel to do – mostly work, very little leisure besides a very complex functional portal re-design for a client that was all ready to go up, but as usual, I'm not as satisfied with it as I was nearly three months ago. And I need to bring all the other things at office into line.... Sheesh, so much to do. 

With almost all my Music uploads now dead and all the SOPA talk, I was also planning on moving the blog to Tumblr or on my own company server (as a pal strongly recommended), but I'm not sure about that at the moment, either. I wasn't even sure it was a good idea to throw myself back into the internet, considering some of the recent problems which have come out of it, seductive, nasty thing that it can be. Don’t ask me what?

And I would have been here a lot sooner if not for the problems with my internet provider - perpetual buffering, intermittent connectivity and long periods of complete internet paralysis! Those lovely and stupid folks. It took them a long 20 days to get my 2 MBPS net line working after their so called upgrade, which could not be scheduled until yesterday (because of some more bull shit antivirus upgrade and all that). 

It seems to me that it's simply not that complex a thing to attach a waveform meter to a live line and see what it says is non-functional. I mean, seriously, I'm no hardcore tech and I could do it if someone gave me the meter!  

So, after maybe some 30 increasingly irate phone calls and maybe 3 lawsuit inspiring emails, and two specific angry phone calls to their local head, much threatening and subdued yowling, someone finally sent a freakin' web technician out here this morning and tested my freakin' internet line. "Ah, bad filter. I have one. No problem." Arrrgghh! I now join the ranks of those who loudly proclaim: my net provider sucks! So much for all the 21st century modern technology talk…

Dirty Minds!

If You've Got One, You'll See It!!!

Life is Short - Live Your Dream!!

Juliana Hatfield Three - Become What You Are (1993)

Feminist Power Pop Rock from the 90's!

Juliana Hatfield Three’s 1993 album "Become What You Are" falls into the Alternative Nation / 120 Minutes marketing category (tip #1 to media empires: know your target audience) of the 90’s era. The style is "alternative power pop rock," or pop music with more of the belligerence and hard edge of rock, to which Hatfield adds her own take. The result is a lot like PJ Harvey & KD Lang - a woman vocalist/ musician who takes on the trappings of traditionally male-dominated rock music, and subverts them, exposing personal frailties using riffs and poses usually used to blow up imagined strengths.

Songs like the hit "Spin the Bottle" and "My Sister" are like glimpses into the private life of a unsettled young woman for whom every day is simply a struggle to survive on her own terms and to be acknowledged for herself. Respect as an individual is as important to Hatfield it seems. as songs like "Supermodel" and "A Dame With a Rod" attest - the message being that this is not just another pretty face, so you had damn well better not try to treat her like one, and it’d be a pretty good idea if you didn’t treat any woman like one, and an even better idea if every woman was willing to stand up for the respect she deserved. The very title of the album, “Become What You Are” is a call to action: recognize your self-worth, Hatfield says, and don’t let anything stop you from realizing your potential.

At the same time, she doesn’t lie and say that this is easy, but shows the personal demons against which she fights to become what she is. I don’t know what the "official" riot grrl take is on Hatfield -- whether she might be too pop or not -- but it seems to me like her record is right in line with their street-level feminist agenda, and perhaps even more accessible on a musical level. Hatfield’s voice is still a bit rough, but it works -- this isn’t meant to be polished pop, after all, and with the instrumentation around her voice, you hardly notice the minor flaws. This was probably one of the better records of the 1993 summer and strongly recommended.

Free Mp3 Download - 64.82 MB Single Zipped Folder – SendSpace Link

THIS IS A NON-COMMERCIAL FAN MIXTAPE. IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU HEAR, PLEASE BUY THE ARTISTS ORIGINAL MUSIC. You can buy original CDS/DVDs & Mp3s at Emusic, Amazon, Itunes, other online stores or your nearest music retailer. Juliana Hatfield's official website is here!

Balls of the Rich & Famous

Not the Balls you Think!!

Twice or thrice a year I experience an extravagant taste of the kind of glamorous celebrity parties that will sweep any mortal soul off its feet. More when I travel abroad. I would be treacherous to my generous host if I tell you where I went or what I did but I can at least say that this party, almost an institution in swanky Singapore, underwent a transformation this year, after one of the regular big-time sponsors pulled out under rather acrimonious circumstances and a new online startup (flush with VC money) took its place.

Regarded as snobby by many of town’s rich and famous, who were put off by the increase of wannabe third-pagers who seemed to frequent the ball in years gone by, elbowing out all but the very persistent, this year's guest list reflected the kind of a refined cosmopolitan Singaporean diversity, though it was still, by its very nature, expat-centric. A guest near me quipped that the women looked far better than this time, as the previous sponsor seemed to favour outfits made from the curtains and bedsheets!!

My host was in some sort of velvety ball gown with back corset lacing and a rather shoddy tiara. She seemed to be in a fetid mood, perhaps due to the hassle of organizing the party, but more likely due to the fact that the ex-sponsor was present, at the invitation of some other VIP guest.

The MC at this affair – an Englishman obviously seemed disinterested. He should have been a star in his heydays but now he appeared like a shadow of his former self, in a new rainbow colored coat, which made him look a little bit like a circus clown. He was on a hectic schedule or so I was told – apparently he had just got back from some Film Festival in Europe, where he had supposedly chatted to Angelina Jolie or so he told.

I was sitting next to one hot brunette, who was so gorgeous one couldn't stop staring at those big star-like eyes and perfect playboy like features, balanced by a trademark wine-red dress which was an exercise in fashion excessiveness. Her husband (a spouty, balding Banker or Diplomat) started getting a little edgy when the whole table which consisted of (myself and my friend, his brunette wife, a Swedish expat and his pretty Eurasian partner, a friend of my host and a couple who had entered an online draw and won two tickets to the party) went on a champagne, vodka, rum, whisky (and other assorted concoctions) ordering spree.

We had nearly abandoned all hope of ever getting any drinks at all, let alone glasses, sitting at our lushly decorated table with its flowered centrepiece and mauve lampshade emblazoned with Mozart's countenance. We felt like some saints, surrounded by plenty but never managing to wet our parched lips. But once it did arrive, there was no stopping its flow. Pity the ever-smiling Bangladeshi waiter!

At the immediate neighboring table sat this pompous designer with his beautiful wife who must be a perfect model for his clothes. She was in a sheer lacy blouse with turned back cuffs and a full back and white 50s skirt.

I caught up with an old friend at the tantalizingly setup snack bar, which was just getting into party mood, after rejecting the grand waltzes of the main ballroom, where the Anglo-Indian songstress and her band were wooing the younger set with their tunes, even enticing them into a romantic dance, which worked out to be a cross between Zorba the Greek and a dance from hell.

I was chatting with him, thinking that the glitzy evening was going rather just fine, when the impossible began to happen. People started to leave - going home. "What's happening", my friend cried, as the rooms became more and more deserted and the prospect of leaving before 6 AM became ever more real.

It was around 3 AM, and we had a real disaster on our hands. The dreaded munchies had struck, and the dinner of 8 PM was fast becoming a memory (a few satays and chicken tikkas and a little caviar just don't count under these circumstances). It was time for radical measures.

We decided to hit the clinically clean streets of Singapore in search of a meal - not a very difficult task but we wanted a proper one. Fortunately there is one place the driver recommended in Clarke Quay, so up we cruised in the Toyota Fortuner to find a enormous queue.

Now there is nothing in the world that is cooler than hitting a great joint at 4 AM in formal suits & full ballgowns. It literally stops the traffic. "Wow, cool dress," said one of the bug-eyed revellers, waiting for their delivery, probably trying to take away the taste of too many Fosters.

We ordered their best pizza and when it came, it was delicious - satisfyingly big and generously topped with the best cheese I had ever had in recent times besides the price was a steal! A total antidote for a 5 star meal! You do learn something every day.

The Crucible (1996)

Arthur Miller's Solid Allegory of McCarthyism

The Crucible is a solid screen adaptation of Arthur Miller's 1953 play about the virulent Salem Witch trials (a take on the communist witch hunts in the 1940s-50s US), directed by Nicholas Hytner (The Madness of King George) and adapted by Miller himself for which he earned his only Oscar Nomination.

This is still obviously a play, but Miller makes concessions to cinema's need for speed, adding many exterior locations and keeping the action shifting constantly from one location to another to provide visual variety and heighten the tempo. He also dramatizes a few scenes hitherto summarized in dialogue, in particular the girls' forest revelry that instigates the plot; and some brief, newly devised scenes, such as a jailhouse send-off between Abigail and Proctor and a finishing execution scene.

It's a rather claustrophobic play on the stage, but the film opens things up and brings in some authentic New England atmosphere. The cast is strong throughout, although, maybe it's just me, but I don't quite accept Winona Ryder as the envious, devious Abigail. Her perfect roles seem to be those in which she can be spirited but essentially sweet and vulnerable, as she was in Little Women and Reality Bites.

Paul Scofield is an suitably hard-faced Judge Hathorne, Daniel Day-Lewis gives another dynamic performance as John Proctor, and Joan Allen, as Proctor's wife, proves herself a match for Day-Lewis. Allen's moving performance as Pat Nixon is the one good memory I have from Oliver Stone's headache-inducing kaleidoscope of a movie about Richard Nixon. Her performance in The Crucible is equally stunning. She looks every inch the Puritan wife - plain, stoic, reserved, full of suppressed emotion that pours forth in the climactic reunion with her husband. That scene between Day-Lewis and Allen, shot on a windy promontory against the background of the sea, is simply heartbreaking. It's worth the wait.

It's valuable to see a faithful screen version of this play noted for its allegory of McCarthyism, so younger generations who haven't seen it on stage will have a chance to experience it. Admittedly, this may not be the sort of film you'll return to on Saturday nights with popcorn in hand, but it's definitely worth watching once.

Free Streaming/Movie Download - Video Link: VeeHD

Real Needs and Real Wants!!

A Schematic Food for Thought! Dig It!!

Hot Water Massage ?

Elusive Hot Showers & Other Watery Issues!!

Goes in, goes out, goes in, goes out!! It’s almost an hour and the house keeping guy is still trying to figure out what’s wrong with my bathroom shower!! It still trickles like a baby pee – not the rain shower I want!! And they don’t have a spare room to shift!! All this for a proper hot shower.

Well, I hate showers that have all the force and grit of a miserable drizzle. Yet, they seem to be the omnipresent thing, everywhere I go including my current room of misery in my supposedly ‘ubercool’ boutique hotel.

Are all the other people in the world afraid of water or something? What is with this glum dribble? (And don't start in with me about that "water shortage – save water” eco mantra, I am a ecoactivist myself but it's the middle of an extended freakin' cold country, here. Besides, this hotel doesn’t have buckets either!!) Heck, at some places I have been, where it rains more than it does here, you could get a better rinsing off standing outside in the rains than waiting for your hot shower to work.

You see there are two things I really want in a shower (well aside from a non-skid bath floor, branded toiletries and the occasional sexual fantasy): lots of very hot water and enough ‘massage’ pressure to force the shampoo out of my hair and the stinging pain out of my back. Is this a lot to ask? Apparently Yes.

I was in a hotel room in Singapore and there was a note on the bathroom mirror informing me that this room was supplied with low-consumption fixtures for my convenience. Whose convenience? Excuse me, but I do not find it convenient to wander about with my hair and skin sticky from an over moisturized soap I can't rinse out. Now, Singapore is mostly a well-manicured, sanitized city and is constantly whining about how they don't have enough water (and at the moment, enough electricity) and, despite the fact that I think the place is more full of pessimism than an overflowing septic tank, I'll grant them the smugness (sort of).

But, why is almost every other hotel I go full of showers that mostly spit, instead of spray? Do worn out travelers like to be sprinkled upon? I want the water to shoot (Hey, none of that, now, you dirty minds!)

This just ticks me off. If the problem is indeed the water supply, then send it though a smaller pipe. Even as kids we noticed that putting your thumb over the end of the garden hose made the water shoot out more forcefully. Put a figurative finger over the flippin' pipe and get me some be-damned pressure!

Even my club has showers which drool morbidly onto one's head (either they are apparently designed with very, very tall people in mind, the shower heads being a good 2.5 meters off the floor or the guy who designed it was on drugs).

Luckily, there is one place I can get a decent shower and, ironically enough, it's at my rickety Gym. Gyms are not noted for having great showers. Usually they are dark, dirty & cold and have limited hot water at very limited pressure. I mean, who really cares about a bunch of obese souls or transient body builders, right? But I got lucky. My Gym showers, though a bit dim, have plenty of hot water and it comes out of tiny shower heads at an adjustable pressure. Fantastic.

Not everyone is like me, I know, in that desire to have little hot water needles pounded into their flesh, so they can adjust the spray as they see fit, but me, I've got the thing adjusted to the hardest setting I can get and the hottest water I can stand (which is pretty hot). Boiling Egg temperature, you could say! When I step out of the shower, I want my skin to whine and steam, utterly clean and shrimp-pink. None of this apathetic oozing and mincing about, quivering. Blah!

A cold shower is nice in the summer (and necessary under certain conditions), but it's not in my fetish-collection. Maybe that's the problem: maybe people are just becoming too wimpy and too peculiar. Could it be that my fellow friends are actually in favor of this “no pressure’ deviation? Or maybe they even like it - along with squashy, over-soft mattresses? Ugh! I may have to declare myself a member of a separate nation: the land of hot showers, soft but firm beds, weird movies and lotsa shiny, happy people!.

When did we all become a world of green tea-sippin', wellness-spoutin' dribblers who can't even operate their mobile phones? I'm disgusted. In fact, I might have get the hell out of here, hit my gym, beat up on something for a while and then take a power packed massage shower. A hot one, that is!!