it ain't half hard, m'aam

Apparently, there are four levels of erections (don't laugh). I'm serious, I'm quoting an expert from the Asia Pacific Sexual Health and Overall Wellness organisation. Besides, we all know how important erections are (I hear you chortle), so it's good to be informed.

So yeah back to the matter in hand (no pun intended). The four degrees of hardness are:

Tofu: it's large but not hard

Peeled banana: it’s not hard enough for penetration

Unpeeled banana: it’s hard enough for penetration but not completely

Cucumber: it’s completely hard and fully rigid

I'm sure those of us with appendages can agree that we want cucumbers. I'm not to sure about the unpeeled bananas though; some tend to look quite sturdy indeed, unless they were crushed. Tofu is plain traumatic, thank God for Viagra and Cialis and the various powdered penises sold by your local Chinese medicine hall (no, I do not condone the killing of wildlife merely for the sake of an erection; a myth at that too).

These eyebrow-raising analogies do, however, shed some very interesting light on a phrase commonly used in the English language; I reckon being 'cool as a cucumber' has taken a whole new different meaning.

and then there were none

Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth playing all these mind games.

Is it really beneficial to chart your moves, to analyse every action and plan for the next step? Are feelings nothing more than mere chess pieces, to be moved and captured with the sole intention of triumphing in the end? And what is this triumph? What do you get out of this, other than the opportunity to bask in the egotistical afterglow of some self-damaging contest? Where's the honesty? And what about the axiom of expressing one's true emotions? Measly pawns that are sacrificed to achieve what is inevitably a hollow victory.

And yet, there's the question of risk. How far is one prepared to go in order to 'seal the deal'? What if only one hand is clapping at the wind? There is no rewind button, no 'Previous' icon to click on. What's said will remain said, and no amount of backtracking will change that. How far will you go? How far will I go? The awkwardness if faced with a resolute 'No'; the deafening silence that follows; the tension that forms a perpetual wall between the protagonists; situations that create hesitation in the most daring of gamblers.

I reckon the risk of rejection (or should I say, fear?) is inversely proportionate to the degrees of separation between two people. The more layers there are, the more inclined one is to spilling the beans. Direct contact (close friend, colleague) brings the biggest risk. Can you face someone every day, knowing he or she sees no future with you? Would I be able to sit down and have coffee with a group of friends, knowing one of them is privy to my inner feelings, and is not reciprocating them? Take a minute to think it through, before spewing out oft-used phrases like "just do it" or "you gotta do what you gotta do" or even "go with the flow".

The two main weapons missing from most people's armoury (and definitely mine) are confidence and a thick hide. The former to express yourself, the latter to survive potentially damaging rejection, both psychologically and emotionally. I can only speak for myself when I say it only takes a few minutes to swiftly unravel what has been carefully nurtured and protected over the years. To avoid that, you and I wait and see. We play a waiting game, collecting positive signs and explicit signals, accumulating them until there is no doubt whatsoever that we'll receive an affirmative response to our propositions. You yearn for a gentle gesture, I anticipate a revealing word; anything that resembles a carrot to which we can pursue with renewed hope and youthful zing.

But enough of these purposeless laments, these needless groans and moans that will eventually be quite grating even to me. I'm shrugging off the dusts of disappointment that litter my mind; I'm putting events into perspective. I'm reaffirming my commitment to ambivalence, which is comforting in some sadistic form. Or is it masochistic?

After a while, who cares.

voting is wasteful

What's the value of one vote? How much is it worth? Here, one vote entitles you to:

• RM 5 million
• RM 50 (if you're living in Les Estates)
• Professionally touched-up photographs (in the nude, of course)
• A priceless collection of Malaysiana superfrogus
• A second wife
• A free, two year stay at Kamunting Holiday Resort, with complimentary meals
• A personal entourage outside your residence/ office, complete with banners and placards
• A cocktail party with Molotov served all night long
• Absolution from all crimes past, present and future
• A free one day tour of The Blue Station, and the chance to revel in police hospitality
• And, an open invitation to experience local culture, complete with machetes and metal rods

turbo boost and leather jackets

What's this I hear, a modern, souped up Knight Rider is about to hit the TV channels?

Apparently there was a KR made-for-TV movie sometime last week. And based on those who watched it, KITT should have really rolled on towards the sunset and not reversed. It's quite sad to watch 80's cultural icons being rehashed and revamped to suit modern tastes. I reckon series' like KR, A-Team, Airwolf and such should be preserved as some sort of national heritage, and never be repackaged. In fact series' shouldn't be allowed to be made into movies. The most obvious flop to bomb out is Miami Vice. That's one flick that should be retitled 'How to Keep Moustaches and Goatees'.

I've no issues when it comes to cartoons, though. Who wouldn't want to watch their childhood heroes come to life. Think Transformers. Yet even then, fuck-ups do happen. Here's something to jog your memory: He-Man, Alvin and the Chipmunks, and Dungeons & Dragons (a major source of consternation on my part).

Hmm, so what would I like to see brought to life? The list is long, I can say that. Off the top of my head:

Robotech
Jem and The Holograms (don't ask)
My Little Pony (I said don't ask)
Visionaries
Thundercats
Samurai X (okay, I'm allowed one anime)
Johnny Quest
Voltron

Like I said, it's quite long.

it had to be valentine's day, didn't it?

Oddest thing, I can't seem to recall even one memorable Valentine's throughout my life. A good one, that is. I've had a couple of utterly horrible ones over the years (15 and counting). But never one which really justified the exorbitant prices paid on the day. Just one of those inane things, I guess, like never having flown or gone to the beach before. Am I bothered? Not really.

Okay, so here's the plan; which is by no means a walk in the park. Since it's been said that everything comes in threes, I've decided to have one more love affair. Which implies that I'm disregarding earlier relationships. Yeah, sorry. So strike two, and I'm batting at base (or whichever baseball term used to describe one last throw of the dice). One more crash, and it's the highway.

Now I just have to find a party to my love affair. See, i told you it wasn't easy.

Anyways, to those celebrating their love or feelings or whatever it is they celebrate on 14 Feb, Happy Valentine's Day.

And for those who aren't, whiskey, cigarettes and a dance floor.

Rotten Rambutans: Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam II

I was going to say, the only thing good about this sequel is the lead actress. I was going to. But I couldn't. The movie is just too disjointed, far-fetched and farcical to be saved by a gorgeous face. I reckon there was a major brain fade when number two was being thought up. How else can one explain the down-the-well slide this sequel experiences, when episode one was a high-flyer? Such a disappointment, and the fact that I sacrificed valuable snooze time to catch this it makes things even more wtf-inducing.

First clanger, a nonsensical usage of flashbacks. The first twenty minutes or so can be classified as - present, flashback 1958, flashback 1960s, flashback 1970s, flashback prior to present, flashback to periods unknown, flashback to present. The movie just kept flashing, I tell you. Then there's the not-so-plausible event occurrence. How on earth does Mr Ponty prepare to leave the village which currently houses his infant child and his deceased wife's best mate, without knowing of their presence there? Made more illogical considering best friend's father is some village wise man. And by the fact that assassins run into the afore-mentioned Mr Ponty, on the same day he's heading back to see his woman. Like they say in Malay, tak masuk akal (literally doesn't enter mind).

Next, the almost obsession-like fascination with Indonesian kampungs. How easy it appears to kidnap a child and hop over to Sumatera (or perhaps Riau islands) for a little bit of R&R. Besides the fact that the kampungs looks like they're stuck in a time warp, the disturbing apathy the villagers display towards our shouting and screaming protagonists (in the middle of town) is bemusing. Everyone looks like they were teleported from the Malacca Sultanate, without a sign of technological advancements such as TVs, phones or even radios. A really surreal village indeed.

Yet again, abuse of special effects and constipated wailing. More, in fact. Ponty rides a horse in one scene, flies in another, and walks in yet another. And after a while, the change in costume and appearance is thought-provoking. Why transform from a lovely maiden in kebaya (I think) to a hag with excess powder and Shinto-esque robes? There's no logical explanation here, and I doubt there ever will be. The rules of possession (one spirit, one body) is blatantly ignored, while the kungfu-like action is sadly misplaced.

A real pity, Ponty's fate. From a character sympathised by many, she becomes a banshee suffering from PMS, flying around without an inkling of what she wants in the afterlife. Well, she does want her child back, but not knowing who her child was is quite befuddling. Yet she accurately identifies the infant descended from her unwitting murderer. And to cap off a bad night out, this model Indonesian village, made up of cowardly busybodies, sits right smack on an earthquake fault line. The death toll from this devastating disaster is absolutely mind blowing - two. Both outsiders, mind you.

What's worse, if that were possible, is that this poor effort of a sequel is plagued by horrible editing. Scenes just keep getting cut off before one is able to absorb or even make sense of what's going on. A minor annoyance which festered into major irritation. Even with the lovely MK, PHSM 2 is beyond redemption. Which is a massive anticlimax. It barely deserves a 1.5/10; the 1.0 coming from the biased fact that I liked number one. Poor acting, stereotypical casting and predictable dialogue all conspire to ruin the movie; they're aided by a story with more holes than cheese.

The only engaging part of the movie centres around the kuda kepang, which provides an insight into this dance which blends folklore, animism and the supernatural.

One can only hope that ponty baby is finally enjoying the peace she craved for. And that part three doesn't haunt the silver screen.

democracy? what's that?

I picked up The Star this morning, and instantly regretted it; overwhelming disgust assaulted my still-blurry senses. There they were, a pack of scoundrels, grinning idiotically without an ounce of integrity; despicable rodents jumping ship. Only in Malaysia can political turncoats prevail, and thrive.

For that, we can thank BN - the very epitome of hypocrisy.

I was planning to write a long rant about their betrayal of elector trust in Perak; operative verb being 'was'. I don't see the any reason to smear my posts by further mentioning them, so for all I care, Uncle Charlie's kite's up there.

So yeah, first Sabah, now Perak, God knows where's next.

Definitely the death knell of democracy here, or what remains of it.

SOS to the US: please send us an Obama. On the double.

Rotten Rambutans: Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam

First of all, I must state: if it weren't for a certain somebody acting in this movie, I would have never continued watching it in its entirety. I was spellbound, pun perhaps intended, the moment I saw the heroine (you-know-who). That is, before she became capable of putting people under her spell in an evil way.

But yeah, back to the point of this post. Sometimes, and definitely in this case, sequels throw away all the good work done in the first issue. Especially when it comes to horror flicks. One cringes at the list of shame - Blair Witch Project 2, Ghostbusters 2 onwards, The Ring 2, Hannibal, Halloween 2, The Hills Have Eyes 2; get the idea? Let the dead rest, and let the undead fade into the night, I say. I'll explain why, with regards to ponty baby, in my review of the sequel in the very near future.

Back to the Banshee, Scent of the Tuberose, or so I'm led to understand.
So, what's there to like about this movie, you may ask. Well, quite a bit, I say. Firstly, Maya Karin. Then there's the Ponty who's, wait a minute, Maya Karin as well. Okay, there's more. The plot, while not exactly original, is simple and not confusing (for now). Woman is wronged, woman seeks revenge, woman is avenged. However, along the story, the Ponty does elicit genuine sympathy for her plight; after all, when human, she had everything going for her, until some moron decided to trip her.

The setting, circa 1958, is quite plausible since most people were still living in kampungs and riding bicycles back then. Personally, the timeline shouldn't have jumped several decades at the latter stages. Modernity robs the storyline of its rustic eeriness. Yet, trust the movie makers to compensate by ridding the present of handphones, laptops, civilisation and the fact that there are 24 hour eateries littered across the country these days. Yeah, I know it's still Kampung Paku Laris (literally Hot-selling Nails Village), but come on lah.

Where were we? Ah, yes, PHSM suffers from a common malaise that plagues almost every big budget fare made in Bolehland. The abuse of special effects. Think Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon stunts, executed with lesser perfection. It becomes so obvious FX and CGI (see, I do have some tech sense) form an integral part of the haunting, as do wiring and harnesses. A pity, cause a pontianak walking along a path or perched up a tree creates enough fear by herself, without the need for a shimmering silhouette, and blood-red eyes. And the wailing is atrocious.

Okay, the positives. Like I said briefly earlier, the kampung setting adds to the atmosphere, a village ripe for the taking. I would have knocked back several more years off the timeline, but I guess nobody wanted to see the vestiges of Japanese rule. The display of culture and dance is to be commended, though over-emphasised at times. The acting from some of the established stars is good, but the others fail to ignite even the slightest reason to suggest they can act. Oh, a massive plus point for PHSM is the theme song; I simply had to have it on my playlist. The lyrics spell clearly the relationship between the primadonna-ponty and the villain of the piece; it's not as one-dimensional as it is on-screen.

To be fair, the respective characters of both protagonists are well developed. There's the woman in love, the wronged woman, the vengeful woman, the spurned suitor, the obsessive stalker, the jealous rival and the repentant villain. Quite a tapestry of emotions, well acted out.

All in all, I'd give PHSM a Rotten Rambutans rating of 5/10. Not quite the ultimate horror scare of the decade but highly watchable and more than slightly intriguing. Oh, and because you-know-who's in it (which should be worth at least 10 points).

sobriety is relative

Ever since I fell in love again, life has been nothing but a bed of roses framed by a star-filled canvass.
Yeah right! Ah well, at least there's still one in a million chance...
Hmm, this turn of events (also known as subject of infatuation) shows that I've progressed from tall blondes (farewell Maria, it's game, set and match).

Back to serious business (matter of relativity, of course). Okay, I'll begrudgingly admit, Hartamas isn't that bad a place to jolly about. Two consecutive nights there, and I'll say this much: it has its attractions. In terms of sights and space; the latter referring to, of course, the relative ample free parking available during the earlier part of the night. And the clubbing hive of Hartamas is undoubtedly Supper Club. Sit down at the mamak opposite (next to 7-Eleven) and you'll nod in agreement. Really.

Thus far, I'm pleased with my resolve. Barring certain idiots who have tried spiking my drinks, I've kept away from alcoholic beverages with relative ease. True, it takes more effort to loosen up the tongue and body movement, but slowly and surely, I'm getting the hang of it. So maybe I'll treat myself to a binge sometime in December this year. If only I could say the same of cigarettes.

Then again, I said I was quitting drinks, I didn't say I was becoming a saint.