Before the earth reaches the apogee of the next Summer solstice, misogynist parasitic celebrity blogger Perez Hilton will be flattened three times by enraged gangsta rappers, kicked in the groin by an insanly mad has-been TV actress and bitten on the ankle by a disgraced beauty queen's over-stimulated lap dog. The ensuing legal actions will earn the cretin a lifetime of fabulous affluence and, hopefully, an irreversible form of suicidal depression.

Perez Hilton appears in a Los Angeles court wearing his favorite cotton candy hairpiece and trademark black eye.

Of these things to come, the Oracle is certain

There's a fine body of cinematic work based on someone alone in space and losing it: the best of these, Silent Running, Solaris, and of course Kubrick's iconic 2001: A Space Odyssey, to which Moon director Duncan Jones seems to pay more than passing homage in his new psychological thriller. Alone but for his computer companion, Gerty, Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell, in a fine turn) maintains a mining facility on the Moon where robotic harvesters scrape the surface of the moon for Helium III, this future earth's main source of energy. Nearing the end of three-years of isolation, he has managed to keep himself busy with quirky hobbies and his structured routine, though lately he hasn't been feeling well and may be hallucinating. After a disabling, almost fatal accident while out in the field trying to repair one of the robotic harvesters, Sam awakens on a gurney in the outpost infirmary, as Gerty (Kevin Spacey, conjuring up his K-PAX voice) tends to his every need while answering none of his questions.

Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) is beside himself as the only man on the moon.

Once Sam is back on his feet there's someone else occupying the tiny crew quarters, someone who looks a lot like Sam before he started feeling lousy and began to lose it. Who is this? Is it Sam's imagination, perhaps an alien, an android... something else?

Despite for the fact Jones chooses to ignore the effects of the moon's low gravity in the indoor scenes, the plotline runs tight and the suspense builds ably while a horrible, twisted secret is gradually revealed.

Sam might survive--if he can escape company assassins sent to finish him off and manage a clandestine return trip to earth--but perhaps 'survival' isn't quite the right word, given his unique circumstances.

A well-executed drama in the mold of 2001, though GERTY is surely no HAL-9000. The Sci-Fi junkies among us can expect to be thoroughly entertained.

Rating: a lonely 3.5 out of 5
Golden Fat Laughing Buddhas

LUCKY SONG: Beat It

Last week at The Watch City Brewery in Waltham we had a sort of reunion of my brothers and sisters from our days at Mitsubishi Electric, some of them even before and beyond. Thank Goodnews we have Squire Burgess to put out the call once in a blue moon. Somehow he knows it's his job, and he does it so well. They make me proud, these folks. During my 30-plus-years in the computer business, I always considered myself the accidental tourist--a grateful 'victim' of a long string of fortuitous circumstance. In 1984, some mystical alignment of stars placed me across a large conference table from nine Japanese managers and three lawyers, negotiating the price on myself, a handful of others and a three-year project already two-years behind. What a wonderful trip it turned out to be.

A cadre of usual suspects during Iseki Kota and Kako-chan's visit, summer of 2007.

Make no mistake; it was hardly ever easy and not always fun. Hard, challenging creative work never is. We fought many battles on foreign soil, some folks paying the price of separation in their personal lives, all of us changed by the experience.

I am deeply grateful to many Japanese managers: Yonezawa San, Tabuchi San, and my beloved Mutoh San, among others; great guys who trusted me enough to allow me to try things my way.

But most of all, I am grateful to my brothers and sisters.

There were four generations of them, by my reckoning. There were those who came with me from IPL and our first hires: Fran, Chris, Peeto, Kathy, Fred, Limey, Craig M., Suga, Shirai, Sukkoto, Andrea, Mako and half the Egg Brothers. In the office computer era, we hooked up Gary and Carol, Mike.L, Mike D., Jeff P., the Derek, Ueki-San, Paco Saito and the irrepressible Watanabe, the Japanese version of an accident waiting to happen. SW ramps up, new faces appear: Evan, Sam, Rulian, Noemi, Dave Mankins, Steve Mason and Al Leisinger and so on. Finally, Frank, Tom W... and so it goes.

I can't list everyone, wish I could. Everyone had a story. We watched each other grow, mature. Though there were always enough Ali Safavi's, Ken Bloom's, Ray Betterini's and Wakim Bitar's around for comic relief, I loved most of my fellow travelers, if not all.

Late one night, a long time back, someone burst into my office, red-faced and screaming. "Why don't you fire SoAndSo? How do you put up with him?"
"Part of SoAndSo's job is to be the person everyone hates," I told him, "If I fire him, you might be the one." Fortunately, the dutifully despised were few and far between.

When I walked into Watch City Thursday night, I paused by the door, looking around for Steve. When I spotted our gang among the crowded bar's gang of gangs, I stood there for a minute, watching them talking, joking, doing the familiar things they do. I was moved. If there's ever a place in time where a better, more talented, group comes together over so many years, I'd be interested in knowing about it.

It was you, my comrades, my fellow warriors, all along. It was you who made it work. Forever, I'm in your debt.

Mull mentioned that Fran has graciously volunteered to hold the next reunion at his palatial Newton estate. Don't forget to bring along tennis rackets and skeet gear if you're not already penciled in for the 4 PM freestyle orgy... pets welcome!

Thanks, Bubbaloo. You be da man!

LUCKY INSECT: Greenish Domestic Cockroach

There's not much in the way of decent ethnic food out here in the barren bowels of Middlesex county. We're close enough to Lowell, and Lexington, I guess... two of the rare oases in the vast taste desert of suburban metro northwest. Nashua and Salem, New Hampshire, are certainly close enough for a family night out, but the southern third of the Granite State is a wasteland of chain-restaurant over-proliferation. And if you stop somewhere up there that's doesn't pledge allegiance to a franchise, it's likely owned by a clueless someone trying to mimic one.

The India Palace locations in Chelmsford, MA, and Nashua, NH, share a colorful decor filled with funky, really cheap Indian artifacts. Photos pilfered from India Palace website.

Well... sometimes we do have to eat while up in NH on a beer run: fortunately, we lucked onto a rare jewel in Nashua, the India Palace--in the same obscure strip mall as the former Osaka Tea Garden, just past Daddy's Junkie Music and Newbury Comics on Daniel Webster, heading south. It's a small place, kind of homey mom and pop. It's usually quiet, with many families and couples and about half the clientele Indian (had a different name when it first opened, 'Mahalmed', or something). Everything rocks, the food, the service and the prices. It's right next door to an Indian grocery to boot, convenient in case I need to reload on Hot Masala Pepper sauce, Tikka spice, or hunt down the odd Indian ingredient.

After a few years and at least a half-dozen positive experiences, May heard the same folks opened a place in Chelmsford, in yet another tiny obscure strip mall, on Rt.110 near the Westford line, in the space formerly occupied by the Chinese restaurant, Panda Wok.

Both places are outfitted with authentic clay Tandoor ovens and the aroma nails you before you hit the door. Over the years, we've tried a lot of dishes, my favorites; Swordfish Tikka Masala, and Lamb Bhuna--a spicy dark red stew of lamb kabobs, pepper and onions. May swears by any of the shrimp dishes, while the resident teenager loves the Chicken Tikka; boneless spiced kebobs served on a sizzling cast-iron platter with grilled veggies. (For Marii to eat Indian spiced anything is a major accomplishment the India Palace can be proud of.) I've tried a number of their Tandoori entrees, including the 'Mixed Grill', A delicious combination of chicken, lamb, seekh kebab, and shrimp... cooked just right the time I tried it. The major disappoinment, both places... the fried veggie Samosa appetizer. This is the one thing I don't believe is freshly made, or at least was frozen before the day it was used. It just had that freezer hangover taste and texture. You know what I mean... too bad, 'cause I love those 'botatoes and bees'. Their nan bread is among the best I've tried, for some reason especially yummy at the Chelmsford locale.

Many of the waitstaff are English challenged, but that in no way prevents them from providing excellent and attentive service. We've never had to wait more than few minutes at the the Nashua location and never in Chelmsford.

Haven't yet visited the third India Palace location and probably never will until we figure out some reason to visit the butt-ugly mill city of Manchester besides the highway that passes through it.

Rating: A delicious 3.5 out of 5.0 Fresh Tomato Salads

I sent a letter via White House email to President Obama the other day, the second time I've ever written to a public official. The first time was September 12, 2001, the day after the Twin Towers fell, in case you just dropped in from the planet Mongo. It was late that evening and the government seemed halfway into chaos trying to figure out what to do. My letter urged President Bush to get thee to New York City as fast as possible. As our leader, he needed to begin the healing process and comfort the bereaved, things better accomplished from the site of the catastrophe.

It was late at night on the second day and, unbelievable to me, W hadn't yet gone to the site or anywhere near it. It would have been the first thing I would have done if I were president.

I wasn't angry, I was polite and encouraging and wished him well during the crisis, but as an American, I wanted him in New York, well... yesterday. Thankfully he did go to Ground Zero the next day, though I'm sure my letter had nothing to do with it.

I wrote to President Obama after seeing snippets of his speech at Notre Dame. Not one who moves easily, I was moved. To call the abortion issue 'irreconcilable' at that place and time was a bold and risky move, and I wanted to send words of support and encouragement to Mr. President for making the effort.

When someone does something outstanding, you should tell them. I don't expect my letter would ever get to him, but if its weight is merely added onto the pile of favorable emails, it's fine enough for me.

UPDATE: Lyla has been getting along well and has totally adjusted to her shock collar. She seems to know the boundaries now without the flags, since the guys who mow our grass (or whatever it is) have shredded about half the markers into oblivion. There are other plusses, besides keeping her on the property. There have been a lot fewer barking incidents with the neighbors when they're out in their yard. I think Lyla figured out that, since she can't get to them, it's not worth it. Ditto the denizens of the woods, deer, squirrels, a turkey or two. May and Marii say they've seen fewer ticks this year, probably because of reduced hunting forays into the woods. Now if only I could make myself feel better. It's becoming rare, but she'll still chase a moth, a toad or something over the line and get zapped for it. I hope she never figures out who's behind it.

Lylaboo's life and ours has been greatly simplified by the wondrous PET-SAFE 330 Personal Pet Torture Device.

]]>

In this odd prequel to the iconic 60's TV series, director J.J. Abrams almost spoils the whole thing by becoming a little too precious in doling out homage to the past and tries to force-fit every recurring character from the original series into his story, even managing to clumsily shoehorn a wizened Leonard Nimoy into the mix. Fortunately, astounding CGI and boffo action rescue us from too many long strings of expository dialogue and overdone explorations of the ensemble's quirky character traits. Recommended for Trekkies, at least those already familiar with Captain Pike and who have an advanced degree in Romulan studies and have acquired a taste for their food. Not a Trekkie? You could easily get lost as to why any of this inane back and forth banter should matter.

Bruins' tough guy Milan Lucic could have played young Spock in the new Star Trek film, but the director decided Milan wasn't enough of a wuss to play the sensitive half-Vulcan, half-human.

Rating: 3.0 out of 5
Fat Laughing Golden Buddhas