Holiday Entry Numero Uno

Before I begin, a little bit of gratuitous entertainment in the style of "Crazy Hair Day" (note that this was often misinterpreted as "Cover Your Hyper-Conservative Head With A Crazy Wig Because Let's Face It, You Really Cannot Be Fucked Day", much to the chagrin of eccentrics and those unphased by copious amounts of hairspray alike):

By the way, I am perpetually thanking the 50% of Caucasianness that displayed itself through my hair and its non-futile efforts to be teased. As for the Asianness, my blood group and I are currently in discussion about its superfluous role in my appearance which resulted in numerous fob-poses a la PhotoPlus. I'll keep you updated on the progress.

Furthermore, I'm on holidays now. Whilst it does indeed feel emphatically cathartic and relaxing to be devoid of mandatory man-shoes and a uniform that makes my ass look pregnant for two glorious weeks, I am still speculating about whether or not I really should feel drowned with fatigue after 8 weeks, given that Term 2 will, unfortunately, be almost double the length of the Term which preceded it. This has resulted in the sporadic nature of my body clock, which has inevitably stayed true to the usual 7:15am (or 6:30 if there is a morning rehearsal) starts that I so effervescently dread.

Despite the omnipresent guilt factor regarding VCE Bass practise, I fail to budge and merely waste away on the internet until my mind disregards it in favour of something more riveting, like dinner. (Mind you, this is coming from someone who, in a fit of absurdity, told her corroboree of male camarades that she would not be on MSN in order to prepare for her first whole VCE unit by living vicariously through Jaco Pastorius had he been a hormonal, volatile adolescent girl at some stage in his life) To this day I often define "bass practise" as watching Hellacopters videos on my iPod, observing the every sexy move of Kenny Hakansson, whether it pertains to bass or not.

Mmm, yes. That's the stuff. Fuck you fucking Zac Efron, not my fault you sailed too far on HMAS Ugly.

In addition to this, my varied hatred for bass of the VCE kind has prompted me to compose a rather impromptu, Shift-F7-less (and therefore lame) poem pertaining to it. Enjoy this seldom poetic interlude:

If I were to enlighten you about VCE Bass,

With an impartial attitude engulfing my face,

You might respond with "Wow, that's ace!"

Or as a testament to your stupidity "Cello rocks!"

Disregarding the bass.

Whilst on your tangent, assuming VCE Bass is wicked,

One will soon realise that it's highly insipid,

That it's sadly not a case of letting your ego soar,

And fingering frets like a musical whore.

Hence it's obvious that without shift-F7 (or rhymezone.com), I am quite the poetic failure. That said I shall disregard anything to do with poetry for as long as my brain goes on strike.

Conclusively, despite the rant, things are looking up. I am tremendously excited to be seeing my corroboree of male camarades - Roman, Robin and Elliot - on Thursday. As one would likely assume, each one of them is an archetype of characteristics I can only help but admire and they are inspirations unto themselves, inspirations who inspire my creative and volatile escapades.

Anyway I'll catch you all,

Bethany.