Also, if there is anything you think we should check out let us know, we like to hear from you, we like to discover new things. We like to drink beer.

Go listen to El Ten Eleven for now, I saw them with Pinback the other night and the were pretty killer.

There’s no script yet, but we have started on some character concepts. And I believe he’s looking for any “interesting-looking” people to cast in a carnivale-esque mystery graphic novel. (what?) So if anyone out there has a lot of time and has always thought of acting.. you just let us know.

Anyway– this character is a detective who incorporates tarot card readings in solving crimes.

This is the picture I used for the little comic edit above. Photoshop is getting to be a lot more fun.

A truly inspirational designer who showed the world that fashion can still be all about the art form.

McQueen’s death was a shock heard ’round the fashion cities of the world and was the tragic event to commence Fashion Week in New York. Although the presentation at Milk Studios for his more affordable pieces, McQ, was cancelled due to the timing of his death, his presence in the world of fashion will never be forgotten. Patti Smith paid tribute to McQueen during the LNA after party, and I’m sure all that Belvedere vodka was toasted to the air in his name.

For me, McQueen was the man who really turned me to the fashion at all. He’s the guy who made the runways seem a lot more like a performance art show than a presentation of recycled ideas. He was original, he always paid attention to detail, and his work was always so extravagantly and thoughtfully beautiful. He has certainly influenced many designers, musicians, and artists. He was the Michael Jackson of the fashion industry for our generation, and it is a real shame that such a talent couldn’t hold on just a little bit longer, and realize how much support he has. Thank you Lee Alexander McQueen for all that twisted beauty and inspiration.

The strangest thing happened to me earlier today (aside from kicking the fire water and saying I meant it this time). I parked it in front of the computer and wiped some Cheeto residue on my Bugle Boy shirt as per the usual when the hand of doom grabbed me by throat and tore me out of my warm, familiar bubble filled with softcore (okay, hardcore) porn and Ren and Stimpy episodes on youtube. Alright, so that might be a bit melodramatic but what really happened was I ran across a banner somewhere for billboard.com and felt compelled to click on it. I know weird, right? Like a fucking David Lynch movie or something. Now, let me just say that I was curious. It’s nice to know who’s number one every once in a while. It’s therapeutic. Sort of gives you a good perspective on the disparity between those with brain matter and those who simply have pools of fluid in their heads that most closely resemble cloudy mixtures of sperm and urine.

Anyway, taking a page out of the notebook of copycat crimes that followed up the 1999 Columbine massacre, I give you Ke$ha. How one would go about pronouncing something so stupid eludes me and every moment I go on wondering makes my liver cirrhosis progress a little closer to a big bleeding ulcer. Oh, wait a minute. Turns out it’s actually just a stylized version of “Kesha”. I see how they did that. Hmm. Clever. How silly and free-spirited. The dollar sign is a pretty nice touch. The most rational conclusion I can draw here is that it’s some sort of playful nod to her history of being handed money in exchange for gagging on the dicks of record label executives. You go girl!

Excerpt from Kesha’s Myspace Page:

THE TIME HAS COME TO GET ROWDY
MUTTHHRRFUKKKKERZZZ!!!!!!!!!!

I’m a bit of a stalker. I love south. and boys. and boots. and boners. and beer. and babes. balloons. barbeque sause. big balls. bonfires. babes. boobs. butts. bonnie rait. blowjobs.
BAD TATTOOS…….mmhmmm
I sometimes wish I was a man…i would have the siickesT trash-stash….

I live in LaurylCanyon in a Treehouse/Castle hybrid.
Mick Jagger might be my dad. fo realz. ….I play the cowbell.

Anyways. My music is rad. I hope. If your fucking rad, then let’s party…
*KillinN it… Got a BulleT with your name on it…*

$$$$$$

In her influences section, she was kind enough to write out a sprawling filibuster of artists who we are now no longer permitted to enjoy.

Among them: Neil Young, Jawbreaker, Bob Dylan, Ghostface…etc.

Sorry, guys. Game Over.

To be fair, though, we can’t really blame her, solely. Reason being that Kesha along with other dick-hungry drones of her caliber aren’t really people, per say. They’re just sort of these things made up by a marketing team. Their songs, reasoning ability, and every public statement they make might as well just be conducted by a series of commands in binary code coming from a computer in…I dunno…Iraq, maybe? Hell? They could just be advanced explosive devices sent here by terrorists, primed to detonate whenever any real artist begins drawing attention and stifles their privileges of occupying the spotlight. I mean, let’s say, hypothetically of course, that I grabbed Lady Gaga and/or Kesha (these two are largely interchangeable) by their stupid looking hairdo’s and repeatedly slammed their faces against the pavement in a fast food parking lot. Suffice to say, I would be simultaneously maintaining a thundering erection and cackling my fuckin’ ass off. But that’s beside the point. Anyway, would anybody really be astonished if nothing more than some screws, batteries, and groupings of wires began to expose themselves? The idea that I’m trying to put forth here is that these…androids, I guess, do not have minds of their own and would never have gained the celebutante statuses they have unless some money-grubbing slime-ball pointed their chubby omnipotent finger and simply said “You’re famous because I say you are. Now close your eyes and suck the chrome off this trailer hitch.”

TATTOOOOSSS!!!!

KE$HA | MySpace Music Videos

Sure, well get right on that.

So in these perpetually nauseating situations, it’s the label execs that we need to hold responsible, as opposed to the hooker-bots selling out MSG. You think Kesha plotted out this grand, evil scheme of world domination all by herself? No fuckin’ way. It’s just not within her range of ability. Throatjobs, acquiring rug-burns on her hands and knees, and pooping out jizz might be…but not this. Not a chance.

The thing that makes Kesha’s rise to popularity particularly aggravating is that some mastermind electrical engineer already screwed Gaga’s head on in 1986 (in a half-assed effort, I might add) and then in turn, another one felt the need to do it again in 1987 with Kesha. In his defense it was like totally necessary though, right? I mean nine year old girls need a slightly edgier yet equally whorish version of Gaga. It’s obviously vital to their societal upbringing because hearing about grabbing random dude’s crotches and brushing your teeth with Jack will ultimately render them more worldly adults.

TiK ToK

KE$HA | MySpace Music Videos

I take it she saw the Millionaires video.

Believe it or not, I actually indulged in a brief conversation with my mother regarding Kesha, recently. I guess she had read about her in a magazine or something. Don’t ask, cause’ I don’t get it. Maybe when I’m 59 I’ll find time between all those awesome colonoscopies to read up on how songs by 22 year old human clitori (Plural of clitoris? Bear with me) are giving the whole world migrane headaches and diabetic comas. You’ll notice that I used the word “by” in that last sentence. I use that word loosely in this context. Very loosely. Loosely, in the sense that she had absolutely nothing to do with writing or recording a single fucking thing on her “album”, if you will. The more likely way that whole process played out is that a group of sort of hip, middle aged suits who are big into Pat Robertson slaved over BFD and Reason long enough to come out with some of the most bland, predictable shit that they could muster. After this, the “executive producer” followed this cunt around with pro tools running on a macbook on a Friday night and just recorded phrases like “where the fuck is my Blackberry?”, “does this look like herpes to you?”, “is that like, a computer?”, and “I’ll suck your dick for a thousand bucks…” all in passing. Then, the gurus in charge of editing and mixing forced square pieces into circle shaped holes while Kesha twittered things like “Just ate a WHOLE BAG of Oreos! I can throw up like a lot. FmL!!! Mixings going good I guess. <3”

Anyway, my mom said that she read an interview and the reporter asked Kesha a question along the lines of “Do you feel responsible for giving young girls the impression that it’s okay to suck down hooch and contract HPV in bar bathrooms?” to which she replied “I’m not their babysitter.” Well that’s just peachy keen. When someone starts a support group for 12 year olds with vaginal piercings, she might start atoning for her sins.

Whatever. This bitch needs to do a disappearing act, and quick. I’m bored. Why am I even still writing this? What’s a “Noiselens”, anyway?

This is where I was born. It’s the place I have almost no memories of and have only revisited once, 15 years ago. I have so many pictures and stories I want to share of my trip to the Philippines so far. I am going on week two and I have already taken over 3,000 photos. I’m going to have to pick only about 3 to share until I can return to the states, since the internet here is almost non-existent and extremely slow. Upon arrival at the NAIA airport in Manila, I was met with a million kicks to my senses and I wish I could truly share them all.

Enjoy what I can be patient enough with loading.

Mabuhay.

The worst part about this tour is going to be the crowd. These bands were huge in the 80’s, which means the average attendee is going to be in their late 30’s/early 40’s trying to relive their “glory years.” This is going to lead to lots of older women dressing in shit they have no business dressing in, using 3 cans of Aqua-net in their hair, getting fucking wasted off the “king of beers” and showing their tits. I’m sorry but I don’t want to see some over-weight, floppy, chewed up titties.

Here is what I need everyone to do. Buy a ticket and a box of strike-anywhere matches. Walk into the middle of the crowd and start lighting the matches and just throw them anywhere. The resulting pyrotechnics will be even better than that Great White show from a couple years back.

I use Polaroids for journaling purposes. It’s easy. Everywhere I go, I take a picture, and instead of waiting around to get it developed or printed, I have an instant and perfect-sized picture available for pasting onto notebook pages. In two days, I will be going back to the Philippines to rediscover my roots. This trip is the perfect journaling opportunity. I’m already packing my DSLR and an extra lens so I can have all sorts of photographic orgasms during the three weeks I’ll be there. But I’ve been teetering back and forth between wanting to pack the Polaroid camera and using up my remaining packs of film. The pros, in my mind outweigh the cons. It’s bulkiness makes it so inconvenient, and I’m not sure I’ll have many opportunities to bring it ALONG with the DSLR but goddammit, when else can I take polaroids of the Philippines? Right? or stupid to waste so much energy into packing this extra piece of equipment? help.

In the meantime, check out my little collage of my Polaroid past.

edit: something else to think about. Lady Gaga is the new face of Polaroid’s resurrection from the instant film cemetery. BUT it looks like we’ll be seeing more of these guys around after all! hoorah! This justifies me using up my remaining cartridges.
©Kaia Marie Balcos