One invention I would most like to see: A search engine for sounds.

This often happens.

I'm sitting at the piano, playing with chords, when I accidentally hit a couple of keys that remind me of something, something I've heard before but can't identify. I'll try again to play it, and sometimes I'll get a line or so. And then, well, it's impossible to sleep until I figure out what it is.

Tonight I was playing a complete set of four lines of something I knew, a piece so insistent, so familiar. Something you have probably all heard on the radio, something I felt I should know...and yet I did not. Fortunately, my parents being odd and often understanding people, they were happy to help. My mom scanned the titles of her old tapes while I attempted to describe what I knew about the song.

"And then it...it takes off in the middle. You know, on treble."

My mother figured it out about an hour later. I was playing Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street, the song with easily one of the most recognizable saxophone solos ever.

To switch subjects: Today in english class, I made a slip that wasn't nearly as fatal as it should have been. We were reading act 2 scene 7ish from The Merchant of Venice, the one where the Prince of Morocco chooses the gold casket, losing the challenge set by Portia's father and the chance to marry her.

"He's way too good for her," I said. "Portia's a bitch."

What does my english teacher say? "Yes, it's very good to have our own opinions about the characters in the play."

Ahaha. How stupid can I be?

I dreamt of that place where we picked blackberries with a view of the city.

I have a teacher again.

I finally did what I probably should have about four years ago and called up Jenna's piano teacher. Alright, a lie. My father did it, because Victoria suggested we call her father (owns a piano shop), who then directed us to the person we had known he would. To say I'm apprehensive would be undermining it a bit.

You see, now that I've done it, I can't help but regret having done it far too late. My mother's confident I'll catch up, make up for lost time, but I know it's going to be a lot of work and stress if I'm even going to think about playing piano at school next year.

On the other hand, now that one major issue is on the road to resolution, I need to tackle the other one, about which you have all no doubt heard. It's been three and a half years, and I think it's probably time I spoke up about switching to electric. If you happen upon a get-rich-quick scheme in the near future, I'm your best friend.

That snowstorm was unbelievable.

Take advantage of their current state of openmindedness.

Snow tastes like heaven.

It was never more beautiful.

What else to say?

Dad the table-tennis champ.

My father told my mom and me a story while we were in Vancouver. This is pretty uncommon from Dad, who doesn't share much from days of old.

"When I was in medical school, we used to get together and play Ping-Pong from time to time. I was never very good at it, of course, but I used to play with my friends, and I think I won maybe a third of the time. There was this one guy, though, who was incredible. I only ever played him once, but I'll never forget it.

"There was quite a crowd gathered that day. I never expected anything, but it was a funny thing. We played for a long time, and I beat him. People were saying to me, 'You're winning! How are you doing that?' and I would say, 'I don't know!' He was better than I was, but I won.

"And I think it was just one of those once-in-a-lifetime things, you know. That one game."

I dreamt of escalators.

"They could take their picture, and put it up on the wall of shame."

-Kelsey

"Oh no! I left my teeth in my locker!"

-Glaser

Why you have to do well on SATs: "Or else, they send you to the war."

-Mr Galucci

"You know, in your school uniform, you look ten pounds heavier."

-Shotty

"But I says, each one is done different. Some they are talented, some not. Each is done different."

-Mr Galucci

Here's something beautiful.

When you're out walking around with no real purpose, but you have a few minutes and a couple of dollars to spend. You've turned into a few small stores, but either you couldn't afford anything or nothing caught your eye. Then you decide to go into one particular place you probably would overlook another day. The reason is difficult to pinpoint -- whether it's the biting cold in the wind or the idea of prolonging the peace you have found during your stroll, you will never be able to tell.

Browsing would be a bit of a stretch. What you're doing inside is more of a idle movement between the brightly coloured objects on the walls and the racks, your mind elsewhere. Every so often, you'll pick something up, turn it over, and set it back down before walking again. It's as you're doing this for perhaps the eleventh time that you see it.

What is it? I couldn't say, but you know instantly. It's perfection. It's the perfect gift. You're a little taken aback, because of course you weren't looking for it or even thinking about the person you know it's for. But there it is, where you least anticipated finding it.

And then you go home, clutching it all the bus ride. And there's soup and dates for dinner.

Winds was hilarious on Monday. Maybe 20 of us showed up, because she hadn't been there during the day. Dupaul came in and asked if she could take a picture, which of course put the 20 (maybe) of us in stitches.

Stupid new blogger.

Man, skiing was unbelievable today. It was like dreaming.

Oh, and if you haven't already, watch this. Isn't it heartbreaking? http://youtube.com/watch?v=0h_ifrP1WaE

Competitive?

I don't know. Not really. I loathe competition, but maybe that's just because I hate losing.

I often prefer it when you're spectacularly wrong.