The white smoke appeared and a new Catholic Pope has been selected. He has chosen to go by the name ‘Francis’…St. Francis is commonly known to Catholics as the voice of the poor).

And then there’s this, you know, speaking of money and poor people and such:

A Kickstarter campaign for the Veronica Mars movie has already made its $2 million goal in just 11 hours.

Warner Brothers (parent company: Time Warner)  has agreed to produce, market and distribute the flick, but the $2 mill had to come from elsewhere–The $2 mill couldn’t come from a company that is worth $54 billion+!  No siree, it had to come from the general population–one which is already struggling to make ends meet and get jobs and pay off student loans.  Does Kristin Bell really need average Joes to donate all of that money?  Nah, I doubt it!  There are plenty of A-Lister, high rolling people in the Hollywood circle that would’ve probably helped to fund a project like that.

However, the people of the world have spoken and they want their modern-day Nancy Drew, to which I just shake  my head.   *Note:  It is said that Amazon Payments–the company which collects the donations that were pledged–takes anywhere between 2-5% of the overall amount donated to the campaign.  So, basically, you donors gave Amazon at least $40k.**

Now, before you start thinking that I’m going to launch in to how this money should be donated to the homeless or such, I can tell you that I’m not going to do that.  Come on, that’s obvious. It’s way more fun to think of the other, ‘other’ people and things in the world that could use the $2 million + (people are still donating).

So, Who needs to have a Kickstarter campaign worth $2 million?!

Well, the first person that comes to my mind is Annie, from Bridesmaids (Not to be confused with Kristen Wiig). Her clear as day plea, ‘Help Me, I’m Poor’, spawned t-shirts and coffee mugs, while making the rest of us finally happy to hear that we aren’t the only ones!  Yahoo!

Mo’ Money = No mo’ bad hair days???

Another person who could use that kinda cash money is Donald Trump.  Why, you ask?  Well, he is obviously hard up for cash given the fact that he was going to try to take Bill Maher to court for not paying up on that $5 million bet that was made saying Trump should prove that he is not the offspring of an Orangutan.  I’m not going to even get into the ridiculousness of the whole thing, but since Mr. Trump does not realize that wasting the time of the court system on something trivial like this is irresponsible on his part, I’d just assume have a Kickstarter campaign to get him to shut up.  (Keep in mind, he could also make use of it since he’s filed bankruptcy 4 times on behalf of his various companies.)

You know what I’d do with a million dollars?
2 chicks at the same time….

Remember when Peter, from Office Space, asks his neighbor, Lawrence, what he would do with a million dollars?  Even though I’m a chick, I can respect the man’s honesty and say that because of his straight forward, dead pan delivery of ‘Two Chicks At The Same Time’, he most definitely deserves the Kickstarter cash.

Being the Sundance Kid that I am, I couldn’t do a list about people who could use a million dollars and not think of the stars of Lauren Greenfield’s award-winning film, “Queen Of Versailles”. The Siegel’s rags to riches to rags story is disgusting and sad.  Due to a bad economy, frivolous spending by Missus Siegel and a few other preventable factors, most of the employees of Westgate Resorts lost their jobs.

Prior to the fall of their business empire, the family had begun to construct the largest house in the US and even as things continue to spiral downward, the spending doesn’t stop.  As I write this, I am deciding that it is not the Siegels who need the money, it is the people who suffered the bigger ripples and backlash as a result of their miscalculations and mistakes.

Imagine this: you’re living in a land of make-believe, surrounded by a ditzy giant bird and other giant puppets, and to top it off– you have to live in a trash can.  I’m sorry, but wouldn’t you be a Debbie Downer too??  I’m talking about Oscar The Grouch.  This poor guy has it rough, you know that a day doesn’t go by without someone throwing a half-full Big Gulp in there.  Come on, Elmo got his own show, the least you can do is give this guy a full-sized dumpster…..or $2 million dollars.

If there’s some poor, deserving chap or lady that is more worthy than those that I’ve come up with, please let me know.  I’d love to hear whose campaign that you’d invest your cash-money in to help them thrive and survive.  In the mean time, I’m going to go watch Veronica Mars in her best role to date, Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

LEGGINGS ARE JUST A LAYERING PIECE….

NOT PANTS.

THIS IS NOT WHAT THE DESIGNERS HAD IN MIND!!!!!

I’m not even raising issue with the style of these (I’m pretty sure though that this is not what Vogue had in mind when they said ‘stripes’ are back….hmm did they say that at all???).  No, really the issue at hand is if :

a.) this girl asked her friends their opinion of her outfit  and they said yes, it’s okay

b.) has she fired her friends yet?

Tights Done Right

Let’s go back for a minute to  when you were in 2nd grade, would your mom have let you wear your favorite white leggings without your skirt over top of them to school? (Note:  I use the term ‘favorite’ loosely because it simply means  they didn’t itch and have the elastic that has loosened up so much that they fall down to your knees by days end)   She let you go out of the house with your frizzy hair and lame puff-painted shirt that you had made on vacation in Daytona Beach—but she wouldn’t let you go sans bottoms…

Think about it.

This is almost too cute for words

Here’s the obligatory valentine’s day posting.  Not sure what to get your loved one for Valentine’s Day?  Well, it was only a matter of time before declaring your love to someone with a diamond ring, posting it on the Jumbotron at an NBA game or having a decal on the back of your Chevy Truck was just not going to do it anymore.

And, sorry to be the bearer of bad news but, folks, they’ve upped the ante over there in Russia.  While some of us might struggle with the mere idea of changing our last name when we meet the man of our dreams (Yeah, nobody said anything about marriage yet but ohhh man, now I’m going to have to redo everything that has my monogram on it!), it appears that there’s no fear of commitment over there.  In fact, it’s no longer about wearing a heart on your sleeve–the new trend is wearing his name….on your FACE.

True story ya’ll.  And, hey, before you take a gander at the pic, note these other impressive facts:

• Ole boy tatted homegirl’s face for her.  No pomp and circumstance of going to the tattoo parlor, no risk of the tattoo artist spelling it incorrectly….sounds to me like this one was actually thought through.  
• They had only met 24-hours before.  Apparently they’d been chat buddies for awhile, but they’d only physically met in the 24 hours leading up to the big art project.
• I take back the misspelling of his name thing. I am not an expert on russian to english spelling translation, but his name is actually spelled Rousian but the giant gothic letters on her face say ‘Rusian’.

Proudly presenting to you, the biggest job stopper of all time:

Someone needs to do an about-face….and quick.

I know that even though I continue to be amazed by all these people in my age group who get sleeve tattoos and job stoppers, it’s really just my conservative side.  I don’t judge and I know that these people are not bothered by the theory of ‘how do you think it’ll look when you’re old?’ and ‘Won’t your grandkids be embarrassed of you?’ But, that aside, this is just….well….wow.  The (possibly) best part of all this is when the boyfran of the year spoke of quick decision making—

‘I know that there are people who are terrified that Lesya has made a rash decision that she’ll regret horribly, but sometimes the best decisions are the ones you make in an instant with your heart rather than the ones long-debated in your mind.’

Gonna need some antiseptic wipes and Neosporin on the double!

True dat, all of my best decisions that are long lasting have always come when I acted quickly and in an instant.  You’re really waxing philosophical with that, thanks.

So, if you think you’ve found the one whom will be worth having his/her moniker on your face, has a name that will look cool in gothic lettering and will clean the blood up off your face, then I think you’ve got the perfect Valentine’s Day gift for this year.  As for me, I will just continue to think that the only proper place for your man’s name….is following your missus’ first name.

Now, pair the above statement(s) with the fact that I’m a TERRIBLE artist.

Like, really, really, REALLY bad.  My 4-year old nephew is Norman Rockwell compared to me.  This was a picture I drew of him, obviously it didn’t make it to the fridge next to his finger paintings. Knowing about my lack of artist skills, one can imagine how bummed the police force would be if they ever had to get me to participate in one of these sketches.

I was recently even further shamed about this fact after reading an article about ‘stoner mice’.  Apparently the Wichita Police Department had some marijuana that they were keeping as part of evidence from a 2009 case tampered with by an unknown source. Upon some hard-core sleuth work (pun intended), they discovered that it was not simply tampered with, as they initially had thought, but that those pesky varmits had eaten it.  Now, this story is funny enough that you could easily forget about my aforementioned artist and memory skills, but the visual that goes along with this story, will bring it all back to you.

<–I present to you, Exhibit A

The rolled up $20 cocaine exhibit in front of the Melrose Urban Outfitters was definitely good for a few chuckles.

Mr. Monopoly can be found on pretty much any clear surface, in a variety of different poses….I’m still waiting for the scotty dog, thimble and rest of the gang to show up though…

This week, however, I found a completely new sign of the times that shows street art is gettin’ real ya’ll!!!  Real koming  in the form of Reality TV Kqueen (that was bad, I know), Kim Kardashian.

I kan’t decide whether I’m drawn to the Kreativity of this Kim K. picture or the Kreature coming out of her womb.

But don’t think that these street artists are only taking their art ideas from the magazines in the check-out lane at the grocery store…they also enjoy the OWN channel as well—-

Hemp For Glowsticks 

This is my Freeloading blogging friend, Alex Kendig….can ya….dig?

Am I the last of a dying breed?  The stupid white guy who barely knows a handful of songs on guitar.  We usually wear tweed sweaters and our half-assed covers make you want to barf so lets just, for the sake of this “article”, call ourselves “Tweedbarfs”.  We used to be the life of the party.  “Bro, there’s people playing Frisbee on the quad”, used to chime the young pledge.  To which his roomie would reply, “better go play some Crash and summon the honeys.” Folks, this doesn’t happen anymore.  Seems these days, the young-uns are finding their own way to ruin good music.  Enter the amateur DJ.  Full disclosure, I’m not a dubstep fan but mainly because I want epileptics to be able to enjoy popular music as much as the rest of us.  Tweetbarfs would spend hours looking at tabs online (because we can’t read music) trying to be able to play a song “good enough”.  The amateur DJ, on the otherhand, seems to get by with just downloading a couple of songs and pressing some buttons.  There seems to be no connection there.  Just an electric keyboard with a MacBook plugged in to it.  The only points I will give is when a laser harp is used.  Why?  Because there’s nothing more badass than playing an instrument that has the ability to either blind you or correct near sightedness.  Tweetbarfs can’t do that.  No one flocks to the local coffee house to see a Tweedbarf anymore.  Graphic designers don’t take a week off “work” to go see a laser light show in a rural field while listening to the coolest Tweedbarf that Spotify has to offer.  It’s all about the DJ.  “Come with me to this party”, a prospective date says “my friend is DJ-ing”.  You go, and it’s fun cause people are dancing ridiculously, laughing hysterically, and you are too!  Then you realize they’re not enjoying it ironically like you are.  Sobriety hits hard.  And while the music is great, and the vibrations will give you a boner; you won’t actually feel anything.  Not in your soul.  That’s what the Tweedbarf will always have on the amateur DJ.  Songs used to come from the question, “how do I tell her how I feel?”.  So we would find a song to learn, learn it “good enough” and freaking go for it.  The antithesis of a Tweedbarf’s songs come from, “how do I make people on shrooms and horse tranquilizers get a boner?”.  They seem to have answered that question, and for that I salute them.  However, now the Tweedbarf has no home. Shunned out and shoved off in to the sunset just like the songs say.  We’re finally as rejected, sad and lonely as our cover songs suggest we are.  Did we start of kill ourselves off by oversaturating subway goers with bad chords? Probably.  Did your girlfriend have an actual reason to sneak away and make out with us on spring break?  No, she was just a whore.  Will we be back?  Yes, we shall rise.  Maybe in the form on an 8 year old Asian kid who’s good at everything.  Maybe in the form on an octopus goddess who nails bar chords like nobody’s business.  Maybe we will rise as the form of hipsters in the future who like to play acoustic guitars because, “that’s what music was like way back in 1996.”  But heed my warning dubsteppers and amateur DJ’s!  The coolest people in disco; are they cool today?  No, they’re dead.  People ran out of money for cocaine, heard the music sober, and realized it wasn’t that great.  The discothèques shut down, and to replace that coke habit people took up coffee.  So, when they got an itch for coke, they instead headed in to their local coffee shop only to hear the sweet sweet sounds of a Tweedbarf plucking the strings till the caffeine softened their stool enough to excuse themselves to the restroom.  We may not be needed now, but the day will come when the shrooms are gone and the power goes out.  You’ll need to feel something, and you’ll turn to us.  And we shall be there playing a cover of “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls that is “just good enough”.  We’ll make you feel something.  It won’t be a boner…it will be your soul.

–Alex Kendig

The lights…..they’re just so–VIVID!

First off, while I was at my local nail salon today, The Nail Shop: Los Angeles, I was given these fabulous Girls-branded nail files.  Listen, if there’s one thing I learned from working at the Sundance Film Festival, it’s that people LOVE free stuff.  Even if it’s shit.  Seriously–I’ve seen some of the most fugly freebies ever (beanies that look like they were sewn by a three year old, lanyards, xxxxl tshirts), but something about it being free, makes it highly desirable.  So, cheer’s to you Girls marketing team.  This just goes to show that ballin’ on a budget, even when your show shouldn’t be, can pay off.

As for the actual show itself…most girls can remember watching Sex & The City, thinking to themselves ‘I’m a total Carrie’. Most everyone wanted to be Carrie (I knew of a few others who were Samantha or Charlotte types…can’t recall anyone saying they were a Miranda but I know a few) and there was no shame in saying this in conversation, aloud, in public.  Girls has given women another show to relate to and quote amongst each other (I may be deflowered but I am not devalued).  The one thing you won’t hear is female viewers openly admitting that they’re a total Marnie, Hannah, et al.  I’ve figured out that this is because the Girls characters are the raw, selvedge-denim versions of S&TC characters.  While Carrie Bradshaw was every bit as selfish as Hannah, she came to us in pretty packaging and easier to handle.  Note: I’m not digging on Lena Dunham’s weight, appearance, etc…  If women were able to relate to S&TC, then we’re related to the characters of Girls.  As great as this is, the awkward, selfish shortcomings are not something that we all want to admit–isn’t that what therapy is for?!–and the reason I feel like people are silently screaming inside their minds ‘OH MY GOD, Did the writers of this show read my diary?!  I thought I’m the ONLY one that ever had that thing happen!’

Anyhow, I used my McKayla Maroney o’ meter to see how I should feel about ole Lance’s confession and…just as a suspected…

NOT IMPRESSED

**You can find me stalking Santa monica Blvd in the West Hollywood Area**