KTB

is it a person or an animal?

B x

Flesh

I heard KTB only awaken to internet use during the holidays. During this time KTB enjoy going wild. They are actually animals.

This entails nailpolish and springtides. Also, a recent addiction for some happens to be a nice p-noir/merlot... I think because its red like blood.

During the time we've been away, we have enjoyed Skins (televised, not human) and also the reincarnation of the Paradiso ice-cream.

Dan Auerbach is still our number one spoon. He and Bon. Bon being more ethereal and generally divine- we save him for special occasions. Like birthdays. When he will gift to us very special favours. Wheeee! Like a genie.

KoL... enough said.

Many songs have been composed- T's version of Roxanne being number one in our drinking charts. Simple lyrics, look them up some time and create your own fun.

This half of the semester has created many enemies for KTB. So behind enemy lines we went, to the set of Home and Away, where we found many scenesters speeding themselves up to death at the hands/claws of T's stare. Come on guys, don't do it to yourselves.

Anyway, B and T still love the Fleety's. It's the beards we feel. And their earthy smell.

K is addicted to Prowling

T is addicted to Subway (not Twilight, actually, so f off).

B is addicted to Blondie

May all of the rainbows in the world light up your eyes

Love,

T

Harry Kember, will you marry me?

METAMORPHOSES?


















I was reading Katherine Mansfield and wondered where Harry Kember is in real life... Where is this reclusive being who is so incredibly handsome "like a mask or a most perfect illustration in an American novel"?
Perhaps it was him today who K and I saw- dressed as a woman rather unconvincingly... (No one is perfect...) This blog post could easily turn into an account of unrequited love/Auckland's personality, but because I am not blind like some (coughmetro/thescenecough) and actually realise Auckland has no personality/love at all, I will not be taking this Harry Kember subject any further. Screw you Harry, its over.


Meanwhile, due to the general retardedness of social circles (we find KTB as a triangle much more effective, thanks very much) I am placing a rather late take on the DRA show on here for your reading enjoyment (especially if you happen to be one of those idiots who were in Europe over the summer and missed out- you also missed the Fleety's, shame).

The State of Ryan Adams circa 2009

Two hours (ish) of musical heaven. Ryan Adams and The Cardinals (Or just ‘The Cardinals’ as Ryan likes to think- Ryan, you’re kidding yourself- you are the star, stop being an attention seeker and making a drama over your responsibilities) played an absolutely stunning set at Auckland’s Powerstation on the fourth of last month.

Thankfully the band had ACTUAL motivation this time around, creating a completely different experience to the dismal August ’08 shows at the Bruce Mason Centre (which were seated, for fucks sake). This time, the setlist was so thrilling it wore the audience out.

We were treated to the epics ‘Come Pick Me Up’ and the ever famous ‘Wonderwall’ cover, as well as ‘When the Stars Go Blue’, ‘Oh My Sweet Carolina’ and ‘Easy Plateau’ to name a few. The wee ditties from Neal Casal were glorious too, as was the lack of Cardinology tracks (relief). The plethora of songs sent me into a trance as I remembered the moments, poetry and emotions the genius of Adams inspired in me when I first heard the songs many years ago.

Complete with a huge gong suspended from the bird figure behind the drum kit, the small stage space of the Powerstation was used efficiently, setting the scene for a mind melting jam session (hooray the harmonica made an appearance) which would have gone uninterrupted had it not been for ‘Joke Time with John Graboff’ who made a rather unfortunate dig at the Fleet Foxes... But that’s another story. The band was constantly looking to Ryan for signals, folding together in a fashion more admirable than Betty Crocker ever folded cookies into dough.

Admittedly I am responsible for the disgruntled article in a Craccum last year, which described the pile of vomit that is Cardinology (the band’s latest and probably (thankfully) final studio album), and am in no way about to eat my words and praise Ryan to pieces- that rather awkward musical mess has scarred me for life. If Cardinology was an actual science, it would be one involving something really stupid, painful and completely avoidable (think carpet burns)... But boy, those who attended the show and remained loyal to Adams and his tattered Cards are surely still glowing. Somebody put me in a museum. I am now part of an elite few in this world who have heard such beautiful songs live. Caw Caw.

Lots of love and peace,

T xx

P.S Harry Kember turns out to be a sleaze who puffs on sweet smelling cigarettes and lures a girl into a moonlit garden.

so...

3 things that made my day today....

1. Sean Penn won best actor. This man is incredible. He's definitely in my 'people I want to meet box'

2. After wasting many precious minutes scouring the internet, K and T informed me that the intro song to the sex and the city movie is by Fergie... I found it, and I'm not ashamed to say I've been listening to it on repeat for most of the night.

3. We are no longer homeless.

As I approach this major shift in my life, the naive part of me is taking over, imagining a perfect little apartment, wooden floors, white walls a little courtyard... OH wait. that's not naivety, it's reality.

K and B (and inevitably T) are moving to a new location. Watch this space.

B xx

Lord won't you take me away from this place?

So the Oscars were cheap and nasty. More about that later.

Thank goodness real estate distracted us.

Unfortunately right now though, I find myself pining for SF.

Really.

The only time I felt complete is when I was essentially that man in the picture outside the BoA... Opposite is a Starbucks and they have cream cheese danishes. I get on a bus at the stop where the man is waiting, and the bus takes me up a hill, past a rabbit house and a fire station and drops me at 22nd and Hoffman. And thats where I sit. On the hill. With finecuts and a margarita, waiting for my nails to dry. Then I listen and watch - feel the fog on my face while the Bay whispers to me. I close my eyes to see. Too often.

With the beginning of class upon us, home never seemed so far away.

See you in a year Sutro, i'll never leave you again. Promise.

Love T

"He Ripped Her Face Off"

Hello, hello Police?? Hurry Please! My chimpanzee is ripping my friend apart.

Are you joking? Who the fuck has a pet chimp, who is actually like a human and watches youtube when he's bored...

I'll tell you who: a sad lonely lady in America. Travis was her only companion. She said Travis:

"couldn't have been more my son than if I gave birth to him"

WHAT THE FUCK

Travis was like a jealous bf and didn't like her spending so much time with
her friends. Travis got mad one day and took matters into his own hairy
hands.

"Don Mecca, a family friend from Colchester, New York, said Ms Herold fed the
chimp steak, lobster, ice-cream and Italian food. Travis brushed his teeth with
a dental water jet, logged on to a computer to look at photos and channel-surfed
television with the remote control."

"Colleen McCann, a primatologist at the Bronx Zoo, said chimpanzees were
unpredictable and dangerous even after living among humans for years."

No shit bro. I could have told you that and the closest i've ever been to primates is like... far away.

What sucks is that Ms Herold actually tried to kill her beloved pet with a knife, stabbing him repeatedly to try and stop him from tearing the limbs off her friend. Traumatic. Ms Herold probably didn't realise that her stabby rip stab stabs were aggravating the chimp even more.

http://www.nzherald.co.nz/world/news/article.cfm?c_id=2&objectid=10557625&pnum=2

I shake my head at you Ms Herold. Shake. My. Head.

Yours in disapproval
T

grumble grumble.

part a.
So, over the past few weeks I have been contemplating different stages of friendship. The concept of friendship has changed drastically over the past few years, and I believe it is thanks to facebook/myspace/any other virtual communicative tool.

Facebook, a place where people you have met once (or in some cases not at all) can with a click of a mouse become your "friend." They then have the power to watch you converse with your other friends, look at photo's of you, and judge your personality based on what your top 10 movies are. Not only that, they can upload terrible information/photos/videos of you which can affect how your real friends view you.

Now in general I am not someone who cares what people think, but for the first time since using these websites I have come to the conclusion that they are simply an avenue for people (who dont have the balls in real life) to torment you.


also uploading photo's of you in your undies is not cool. That's so myspace.



part b
being indie does not make you cool

being in a band does not make you cool.

you are not cool.

except some of you are

B xx

rant over.

Suffer the little children.

A family friend once told me that nannying in itself was a form of contraception, that I should be paying her for all the protection I was getting by looking after her children. This piece of advice has particular resonance as I desperately try to prevent the Preg. I have been to a number of health professionals, been on every form of birth control and nothing works for me. People warn you of the dangers of sex; the diseases you can catch, the emotional repercussions and so on. Actually, sex is a hassle. How can it be romantic and spontaneous when you're fishing around for your diaphram or bleeding 28 days out of every month from an injection that could potentially cripple you? Bring on the man-pill. Until then, babies appear to be doing the job quite nicely.

As a nanny, I am required to take Darling Child to requisite extra-curricular activities to improve social skills and balance left and right sides of brain et cetera. Today's trip to Mummy and Me Dance Class was particularly arduous as I nursed the hangover of a lifetime, but we arrived perfectly groomed, ready for a morning of FUN! Two songs in, I had a bizzare, out of body experience. It may have been due to sleep deprivation, I'm unsure, but had I not been tired perhaps this moment of clarity would have passed me by.

It all started with the song. 'Wiggly-Woo'. Taken out of context, it is a harmless children's rhyme; 'It's all a bunch of wiggly-woo, wiggly-woo, you can do it TOOOO!'. Instead, the hall was filled with the sound of forty moronic mothers singing along with gusto, complete with hand actions and gooey grins. This time, the overwhelming desire to vom came not from the tequila shots the night before but from this scene playing out before me. I could feel hysteria creeping up, but that would make me just as bad as them, I decided. Instead, my mouth became a yawning great casm as I indulged in my Carrie Bradshaw 'I couldn't help but wonder' moment.

Who were these women? This wasn't fun they were having with their children. This was desperation. Trying to make the best out of an awful situation. To my left was a woman who clearly had not had her hair trimmed since 1998 , and to my right, I was greeted with an ass crack the size of Texas. At first, I defended them, like all good sisters should. Maybe the relationship with her hairdresser ended badly. And god knows how hard it is to lose that baby weight. But no. Said womens children were of school age, or kindergarten at the very least. I get that when you become a parent, the child becomes the priority. Hell, that's what all good parents should do. But completely losing who you are in the process? I wondered who these women were BC*. They would have done all the things we do; buy inappropriate and draw-droppingly expensive outfits, laugh with their girlfriends over things guys had said to them, dance on table tops. Of course, this cannot last forever and having children means a total lifestyle change. I just find it inconcievable that women would be willing to sacrifice a sense of humour, a genuine joy for life and pride in one's appearance for another, child or otherwise. Those things make up who I am. Who you are. So, for now at least, someone is finally getting through to my ovaries. The chilling rendition of nursery rhymes and the sea of regrowth have taught them not to count their chickens before they hatch.

K x




*Before Children.

KTB Panel Time...

'He's Just Not That Into You'... Are we going to take it seriously?

Has it become the new KTB video bible...?

It's about girls needing guys. The only cool guy is the one who figures out he needs a girl. Meanwhile theres a sleazebag husband who sleeps with Scarlett Jo, who is also a sleazebag (but very convincing and even though we hated her character... please... honestly... being a sleaze and then trying to find comfort elsewhere to fill the void, fucking everyone over including yourself and being left with nothing... more believable than a random bartender giving a shit about you and giving you dating advice, or your bf of 7 years marrying you on a boat in a white shirt).

Overall, without the fairytales, it is possible to take the movie seriously. KTB are lucky that we have cool heads on our shoulders and can realise the difference between reality and dreamland (T happens to live in dreamland and ignores reality- thats a whole 'nother kettle of fish). Unfortunately, ridiculously idiotic females probably would see HJNTIY and still expect HRH Mr. Right (LLB BBCOM) to drop from the sky and in some kind of a daze fall in love.

He's in a daze because he hurt his head.

Remember this. Theres nothing worse than a girl pathetically bending over backwards to score or keep a guy. The daze is not because of you, you silly twit. Unless its Bon or Dan. Because clearly they are in dazes which are ethreal and glorious.

If you ever forget we'll remind you.

T xx

Always up for a swim and a good spoon

You ladies have summed it up nicely...

The weekend was filled with tequila-drenched proclamations of love and amazing KOL covers. If this had been me a year ago, this blog would have been laced with regret and shame. But now, surrounded by the incredible beauties that are K and T, our adopted children and one very short velvet dress, I have never felt more content with my life.

B xx

An open letter to twenty-year old girls,

After spending the last three years holed up, this summer has changed me. Or perhaps it has restored who I was before I lost myself in a relationship, I don't know. I can say I didn't immediately embrace the situation; I was truly bummed I had whittled away my prime years of drunken debauchery and if you behaved like such when your age began with a two, well, that was just sad. My beautiful friends changed my mind. There is nothing better on this earth than creating epic, beautiful, hilarious memories with these girls. Every single one of you has made me cooler. Better. So please, trust me. It's not too late to have a good time, we have a window of about a year and a half where we can behave appalingly and get away with it.

- Take T-Rex's advice and listen to music that will change your life. Dan fills a void in me I didn't know existed.

- Listen to music that doesn't change your life. It changes your night. Makes you dance like a crazy woman. For example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVb_t_ao9gw

- Have sleepovers with your friends. Important because you can play back the night you had the next morning over breakfast, and it also keeps you away from dirty men. (If the guy is legitimate, then that is fine).

- Drink tequila. Preferably in shot form. Seriously.

- Buy good dresses. Fundamental to having a good night. They don't necessarilly have to be expensive, but they need to be well-made, suit your shape and make you feel like a goddess.

- Wear lipstick. My current favourites: MAC's Russian Red and Hug Me. If you are lucky enough to have green eyes (which sadly, I am not) then try the amazing pink colours like Lovelorn or Snob. It will make your eyes pop.

- Document your epic adventures so you have something to show the grandkids.

So there we are. Just because we're not the girls Caleb sings about in 'The Bucket' or '17' doesn't mean the songs aren't relevant. We're just older. Wiser. With better outfits.

Enjoy.

K x

“Mary’s in a room all black n blue on a Sunday morning in Saturday’s shoes/We don’t choose who we love, we don’t choose”
Did we end up in a paddock last night? Because I swear to you a hooved animal stood on my foot and bruised it.I know for a fact we ended up in the Auckland Harbour.
I also know that we have gloriously loud singing voices. Louder than a band could play. Possibly the loudest reindition of Sex on Fire ever in the whole world happened last night. (I know Noodle heard us in Germany). The band laughed at us. We fell on the band.
I know we did a Brad and Ange and adopted a small child from an almost non-existent nation. The child goes by the tribal name of Debado.
At least this time I wasn’t accosted, told never to leave the country and proposed to (that was Friday- the poor guy in question was more forward than most to say the least).

All this aside, let us now reflect on songs. In particular that one song which sends thrills down your spine and lumps rise in your throat. Of course lonliness can be shit. But for me, a lack of a song is even more shit. It makes me bored. Uninspired. Fed up with the world.What is even better, is when an entire album contains songs which all jolt you and stir up whatever there is to stir in a place where only music can reach. Let us take, for example, ‘Keep it Hid’ by Dan Auerbach. 'Whispered Words' and 'When the Night Comes' are incredible songs. They absolutely play unfound notes with my heart strings. 'The Prowl' is a pot of hot sex. We were discussing what it made us imagine... Napes of necks, denim cutoff shorts, stilettos, a hot day and a shadowy bar in the middle of a desert with a jukebox. And a very slow striptease-esque dance. Imagine that heat.

KTB would probably also enjoy a dance in the same bar to ‘My Last Mistake’... after Tequila. Or drown their sorrows to ‘When I Left The Room’... Truly there is not a song on that album that would clash with that sexy little bar in the desert.

A bit of a sing-a-long wouldn’t go amiss either... In my dreams right now it would be me with my voice after a hard night on the Finecuts... Slightly husky, leaning forward into the mic singing Ray LaMontagne’s ‘Jolene’ as I played with the threads on my shorts and swigged from a bottle.

Lord I have a rampant imagination. Awesomely it will be a reality one day.

T xx

Vomingtines Die (its German)

One time, when I was about 8 years old, a boy in my class wanted to make me his special Valentine.
His father got in touch with my parents, got my home address, and proceeded (i'm guessing) to assist his son in choosing me a card etc. Along came Feb 14th. I was so excited, I held in my hands a mysterious red envelope with an interesting bulge to it. I remember realising who it was from and making an ugly "Hurumph". And then my further dismay when I realised the bulge was strawberry Hubba Bubba bubble gum.

Today we are led to believe that it is some kind of ultimate honour to recieve a material token of affection from that special someone.
It doesnt work like that for me... (Write me a song)

Being the ice-queen that I am, it will come as no suprise that my actions at school that particular Feb 14th were perhaps not the kindest that they could have been.
My eight year old self strutted up to the poor boy and said
"Strawberry? Ugh. Next time, make it grape"

I have atleast managed to melt my heart abit, and as such find the memories of that day v v cringeworthy.

Meanwhile, I am dreading the 'Extra Cheese' Ryan Adams special 7-track Valentines Day digital only release. Sweet Jesus that man will be the death of me. Not only has he stopped drinking and smoking hes now releasing songs called "Hey there, Mrs Lovely". Fuck off bro.
Don't get me wrong, music is my language of choice. I adore it. It comes first.
But please... Lovestruck not Lovesick.

Anyway St Valentine isn't even a saint. So its all abit of bullshit really. And this year it will be so epically shit for Rihanna could we not have had the decency to cancel the day altogether? What is wrong with the world?

xx T

P.S I'm so sorry, I did end up eating the bubble gum. It was very nice, thankyou.

Love Sonnet - by Freddy Kruger

My only comment on Valentines Day is that it follows Friday the 13th.

After some brief research on our friend wikipedia, I discovered this:

"The actual origin of the superstition (Friday 13th), also appears in Norse Mythology. Friday is named for Frigga, the free-spirited goddess of love and fertility. When Norse and Germanic tribes converted to Christianity, Frigga was banished in shame to a mountaintop and labeled a witch."

It's a sign.

B xx

(sending chocolates and flowers to herself since forever ago)

V-Day...D-Day.

Naysayer I may be, but I am of the opinion that Valentine's Day does womankind a great disservice. I should prefice this by saying this is my first Valentine's as a single girl, which may or may not be relevant. (If a tinge of bitter makes its way into the blog, I am sorry). However, the sheer audacity of the day shouldn't be ignored; put simply, Valentine's is a crock of shit. A bit harsh? Let me elaborate.

Firstly, and most obviously, it is a day seriously geared towards heterosexual couples. This is fairly self-explanatory, and I'm sure the other two more conservative ladies on here will rebut this point, but it is one which has to be made.

Secondly, I have an issue with the three-way relationship between the retailer, the consumer and women. The commercial Gods-That-Be bark orders at men to do their duty, whereby making women out to be whining dweebs. From all this shitty advertising, men somehow assume we actually want the red roses and the heart shaped pendants. Now, this just makes us look bad. I have no doubt that housewives in deepest, darkest surburbia would be delighted with a half-price Michael Hill chain, but most of us have our own interpretation of cool and personally, that is not it. The fact that women have become so desensitised that they can no longer form their own tastes is wrong. For me, I've never been a fan of red roses. Not because they have become the symbol of cheap, but because they are actually quite uninteresting flowers. In terms of aesthetics, I would much prefer a bunch of hydrangeas or orchids. Something with a bit of oomph. But then, that's not what this day is about is it? It is a day which celebrates the orthodox and men being held at ransom to please their needy lovers. I am, very clearly, a thorn among many roses.

K xx

First. Fairytale.

...And with Valentines day just around the corner, what better way for a collective called KTB to launch their cyberspace personality.

While Bon Iver rules our lives, KoL maintain our imaginations.

How happy we are so long as we can spoon together.
Three in the bed. And the little one said...

Thats not a fable. Mable. You aren't living a lie. (DWPJ)

xx T