Screaming blue murder

I have no idea what that means, but it looks cool. I'm writing not because I have something to write about, but simply for the sake of it.

Yesterday, while I was on MSN, I saw something about a thirteen-year-old blogger who was famous and being invited to all sorts of fashion shows and blah. Apparently some fashion people saw her blog, which reviews, I think, the clothes that wacky fashion designers come up with.

One thing's for sure: if we ever met, we would never see eye to eye.

First of all, the fact that she likes, and keeps up with, trends of the day. Call me old, stiff, close-minded, whatever you like, but I simply cannot understand modern fashion. Just like abstract art. Who in the real world actually keeps up with these things? Seriously. In my opinion, if it's not your job to critique or design or model, and you're not a celebrity, then why do you bloody care?
(I'm not criticising her, actually, since it is her job now. I think.)

Then the way her blog is written. Okay, I know, I know, she's not a writer, but just reading it makes me feel frivolous and rather groupie-like. Of course, it doesn't matter, since she's a critic and not an author. Just sayin'.

My dad said I should start commenting on books, but most unfortunately, there's no Borders or MPH or Popular or any proper fiction bookstore here. So bluek. I don't think I wanna be the next great book critic prodigy or whatever, anyway.

My head is throbbing, my vision is splotching, my temper is irritable and I gotta go.