Dussehra/Bring Your Teddy Bear To Work And School Day/Columbus Day (Belize)/Yom Kippur
2005-10-12 @ 9:00 p.m.

I like frozen yoghurt and frozen grapes. Shooting Stars is a very strange show. You know where it was all going to end before the show had even aired, so you'd expect the scriptwriters to at least give you a good plot to fill in the gap between rookie and star. Instead, you get a show that's basically like every other show on Channel 5, albeit with better English than something like Heartlanders. (Incidentally, I think Channel 8 actors should be banned from crossing over unless they're English-educated. Please, even my broken English sounds more natural than their stilted not-so-correct English.) The saving grace of Shooting Stars is the music, which is halfway-decent. Even if you think it's thrashy, at least it's local thrash, and not some skanky new American Lolita with her electronically-tweaked vocals. (I realise the second half of that clause implicated Avril Lavigne, whom I happen to like. My response? At least she's not American. She's Canadian! Haha...) Okay. There was a point to this, it's just that I just caught the last episode of Shooting Stars and I was again reminded of how pointless the show was. I'm reading Hartley's The Go-Between because I found it in the library, and Gweilo by Martin Booth is proving to be a lot less interesting than I originally thought. Well, the first chapter was boring. Haven't read beyond that. I'm going to finish writing Choreography, and then no more poetry until the 'A' Levels are over. Writing prose is still possible, since Coleridge already pointed out, "I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is, prose, - words in their best order; poetry, - the best words in their best order." I will do at least one European History reading tonight, and a lot more tomorrow. I refuse to go to school for one lesson, as much as I consider Mr Batchelor to be a very nice man. Then again, if he's as nice as I think he is, he'd understand the feeling of not wanting to be there. Right?