Death Star Canteen

My God this is hilarious.. enjoy!



Eddie Izzard's Death Star Canteen

Recent song favs

The Essence of Good Music

Rock exists in a multitude of dimensions, and it is evident that for each individual, the meaning of this music is undeniably different, based on experiences and age. Right now, I’ll have to let you know what it means to me. This particular genre of music has greatly influenced me for a very long time, ever since I was young. I am often inclined to stand up and fight for it, whenever someone has a word or two to put it down. I am blessed not to come against such ‘blasphemy’ for a long time, but it is sad to say that the origin of this genre is slowly dying out. What stands for rock these days is pitifully painful, and as long as you are able to head-bang and shout out verses and lyrics out in an animalistic manner, you are a rocker. Rubbish. To actually appreciate the lyrics, listen to it with your heart, and take in certain anomalies that sound wrong in a song- and let it make up the part of the song that you love most; is what makes up this genre to me, at least.

I’ll have to let you know what bands that I speak of – Led Zeppelin, The Who, Pink Floyd, U2, Supertramp, Dire Straits, The Rolling Stones, Cream, The Doors and many other legends are all exemplary bands that have the classic attributes to what I speak of. They played and wrote music that stands the test of time, and that have a certain quality to it, that lets you know that it won’t fade away. I’ve also learned that in my advancing years, I can only write from my heart when I listen to such bands play. I become more into myself when I listen to Pink Floyd and U2 songs, just as I am listening to Pink Floyd’s ‘Us and Them’ right now. I’d have to owe the appreciation that I have of this beautiful experience to my dad, uncle, and of course, to my brother. I remember when I was young, not too long ago, as I would listen to the music of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, from behind the closed doors of my brother’s room. I always had that awe, wonder and a certain feeling of heightened awareness of the music that he loved. They were legends, something untouchable and utterly beautiful, that seemed to have existed since the dawn of man. Sacred and holy.



Apart from that, I always thought that it took someone older and matured, in other words; wise, to value those songs. There was always a border and a limit within me, and I
felt I wasn’t good enough for the grandiose of this music. Slowly as I grew, that boundary dissolved and disappeared, even without me knowing it, and I grew to love these bands immensely. It all started from Led Zeppelin and Stairway to Heaven, progressing to U2’s With or Without You, to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. The best part is, I’m still learning of new classic bands. Just when you think you know them all, there’s more. And since I wasn’t born in that era, it has become like a valuable learning experience for me. Something irrefutably worthwhile to the growth of my soul.

If I seem like I’m preaching, it is only because this is the only way to express my thoughts on this particular area that is under scrutiny by me, right now. One of the hardest things that I’ve encountered is the feeling of sheer frustration and discontent of not having many peers of my own age to share the wonder and exuberance of such music with. It’s depressing at times. But of course, there are a handful of people that I do know, that also appreciate it. Those that were actually born during that era, you have no idea how lucky you are. I do know that what I speak of may seem slightly trivial and petty, after all its only music. But if you think real hard, music is part of the epitome of life, alongside culture and belief. So I really think that this is just a fraction of what I should be doing in this area.



Bands in that era, the 60’s and 70’s to be precise, wrote the best music. Real music, at its finest. They don’t make music like that these days, its all protocol and formatted nowadays, manufactured and ready to cater for the synonymous interests of today’s generation. Nothing extraordinary or simply different, everything sounds the same and has the same chords and vocals. They even tend to rip off song choruses, as heard in Gym Class Heroes ‘Cupid’s Chokehold’, with Supertramp’s Breakfast in America.



Maybe it was the ‘flower power’ generation, with its endless influences of drugs, alcohol, environmental issues and not to mention groupies. Mind you, this is an amateur writing. Not that there’s an ample lack of these influences in today’s day and age, but things then were more…authentic. Then again, imagine what the people of then must have thought about their era. To me, good music irrevocably consists of a memorable air about it, which immediately takes me to another place such like how Pink Floyd’s ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond’ makes me feel, as if Waters’ is playing atop a mountain, during the solo. It is indescribable. Once in a while I do have to say that a good piece is made today, but incontestable to the genuine feel of yesterday’s creations. The camaraderie of the band mates, their origins, and the emotional journey that they traveled together, are among the aspects that prove and build the essence of good music.

Hawksbills? in Malacca?

I will never think of turtles the same way again. I must confess, before this I didn’t think much of turtles and was indifferent towards them. I joined WWF-Malaysia’s Melaka Hawksbill Turtle and Painted Terrapin Conservation Project in April, and needless to say, I was thrilled. My mind was filled with idealistic thoughts and visuals of all the great things that I’d undertake there. I was doing my internship with WWF-Malaysia along with my close friend Adele. We are both great nature enthusiasts.

We arrived just on the cusp of turtle nesting season’s commencement, and thus we had great hopes of seeing many turtles. Staying in the field house in Masjid Tanah was a great experience. We got to know the project team: Team Leader Lau Min Min, Peninsular Malaysia Seas Programme By-catch Officer Ernest Chiam and Programme Trainees Arvind Devadasan and Grace Duraisingham. All four are great individuals with their own special personalities. Arvind and Grace lived in the field house with us, our bedrooms upstairs and the office below.

Almost immediately we were given our first task: to develop a fact sheet about why turtle eggs are not as nutritious as people would like to believe. It was aimed at the local villagers who were known to poach and consume turtle eggs. Stopping this through education was our aim.

Our main mission was to help on Upeh Island, a hawksbill turtle nesting hotspot off mainland Malacca. Our routine for the next two weeks would be to leave the field house at 5.30pm with Arvind, drive to Klebang Beach for dinner at around 6.30pm and then meet up with our licensed egg-collector, Pak Ali, at around 7.30pm. Turtle eggs collected by licensed egg-collectors are surrendered to the hatchery run by the Department of Fisheries Melaka for conservation. Pak Ali was a jolly old man with a particular fondness for us girls. We’d also meet up with field assistant Richard Souce, who would join us on the island. This daily practice may sound boring to some, but for me, it held a different light. I wrote this in my diary that first night: “We glide through waves on a late Wednesday evening, the lights of the sky getting dim and casting an aurora-borealis effect upon the sea. The wind slices through our hair, the combination of salt and the cold breeze gives me an intoxicated feeling. Adele and I smile at each other, disbelieving the fact that we are here right now, amidst nature like this. It’s surreal. The blend of the airy night and the slow pace of the waves colliding with our boat are therapeutic. Poignantly, it catches the feel of the evening dusk, sun slowly setting into a clouded horizon.”

Yup, idealistic all right! Reaching the island at around 8:00pm, Adele and I would usually set up base at the jetty while the guys take the first patrol. We sleep and wait between patrols held every one-and-a-half hours. Laughter and talk soon fills the air, accompanied by precious, refreshing gusts of wind. However, in every story, there is an indomitable presence. In this case, it was ‘The Lobby’. A resort that was abandoned when business was poor, things within it were left just as it was, as if everyone suddenly got up and left. At first glance from the boat, it looked ominous. We’d use it as shelter whenever it stormed, and this thought initially scared the life out of me. But after a while, it didn’t seem as foreboding as I thought it was.

We wait for 9 long days; still no turtle. This is one thing I must warn others about. There is a lot of waiting to do and patience is essential. We joked that we were getting depressed from “turtle deprivation”. Then, on the tenth day, the cycle was broken. It was my turn to patrol with Richard. Suddenly, my gut instinct told me to check the upper part of the shore, near the trees. My torchlight illuminated a stretch of land and ended up under a large tree. A ‘rock’ just lay there. I was used to the beach, having patrolled it the last 9 days; therefore I knew that no such rock was ever there. Excitement surged through me as I processed what it may be. That’s when I saw a flipper move backwards, kicking the sand away.

Yes, I lost it. I started flailing my arms madly at Richard, who was meters behind me. He hurried to me, a grin on his face as he registered the look on my face. He called Arvind and Adele, and they came over within seconds. The air was electric, the waiting paid off beautifully. Adele and I hugged, tears on our face. The nesting turtle was so beautiful, almost otherworldly. Her carapace (shell) length was 76 cm, width 64 cm. There was an injury on her carapace, where a chunk of it was either taken off by a sea predator or a boat’s propellers. We waited for the hawksbill beauty to conclude her ritual, and then we removed barnacles off her shell and sea lice from her eyes.

The moonlight reflected off her lovely shell as she scurried silently to the water’s edge, before disappearing entirely into the water. We watched her in silent awe, a hidden understanding among us. They had been doing this throughout history, for more than 100 million years. It was a practice as ancient as time itself, the whole experience ethereal. As soon as she left, our work began. We found her nest pit and her eggs. Freshly laid, they were still soft and very fragile. Adele took charge of writing the data sheet and holding the torchlight, while Richard excavated the eggs out of the nest. He passed them to Arvind, who then passed them to me to be laid gently in a big red pail. The transferring of eggs was done very carefully, without rotating or shaking them. This is very important as the contents of the eggs will be affected badly if that happens. After that’s done, we move to the jetty and record the finer details of the eggs. We collected 135 eggs that night, one yolkless. Arvind and I then record 10 eggs’ width and height, as control samples. Even after it all, we were still excited; the euphoria hadn’t died down.

The next day, our luck remained as two turtles came up! We repeated our actions, and finally ended everything at 3.30am. Exhausted, we knocked off immediately, a satisfied feeling accompanying our sleep. Three days later, I went home. I felt sad to leave such a place behind but also happy knowing that I did something good with my time there. I will never forget this experience as it taught me so much. Hopefully, I’ve inspired you to help conserve nature, in any way, and I hope that you will feel the same satisfaction that I did.