(diaryland) September 8, 2001 - 5:39 p.m.

I went to go buy a piano with my piano teacher today. It was fun, but I didn't get one.

My piano teacher has a way of looking completely innocent and then sitting down at a really shit piano and then playing the living crap out of it till you die with pain. We were in a piano shop and she did that and everyone ran over to die with me. But then she stopped, and just grinned a bit. I think the guy who ran the shop was ready to commit suicide right then and there. His way of showing what the pianos were like to buyers was to bash out a ragtime tune on it. I think he wanted my piano teacher to stay longer. She became his new hero for a second. I think if she'd played her Chopin lovepain any longer, he would have given her a piano for free. Which would have been fine by me.

She could have been a concert pianist, but she didn't feel like it.