December 12, 2006
Kids these days! With their hair! And their clothes!
And their music!
No one will probably be surprised if I say the following: my roommate's music drives me up the wall.
Some people might be slightly surprised if I say: goddamn Beethoven all the time.
See, the roommate likes classical music. Wait, no, he's obsessed with classical music. Bombastic, blaring, ostentatious classical music at high volume. I actually don't know how much of it is Beethoven. Some is. Some is what I vaguely recall Zach describing as the Russian (loud) nationalistic (strident) tradition. Some is just infuriatingly unsubtle and makes me sigh and stare at the clock and wonder how long the composer could possibly have thought a blasting crescendo of trumpets could productively go on. And then eventually I wrest control of the room's music away from my roommate and put on some Modest Mouse to calm my nerves, which is an unreasonable sentence even to 75% of my brain.
A few days ago a housemate of mine put a CD of The Great Rock'N'Roll Instrumentals on the kitchen stereo. Most of them were songs I'd heard hundreds of times in junior high and high school when my dad got really into surf music, and they brought back incredibly strange memories. Everyone remembers being in high school and fighting with their parents over that damn music all the time, can't you shut it off so we can all hear ourselves think? But I think for most people it's their music blaring constantly and the parents being offended, rather than the other way around. Actually it's not nearly as cool as it sounds.
So: kids these days, et cetera et cetera, and their newfangled obnoxious music. What the hell is happening to me?
Posted by dianna at December 12, 2006 12:42 PM
Solution: no roommate. I listen to what I want, when I want. I'm also apparently around the age of 16.
You've also spent some considerable amount of time since college living with your parents. Me, I'd rather have the roommate, which is to say that even the most advanced forms of coercion and/or poverty could not induce me to live with my parents.
Heh. When I was staying with you I noted, at one point, that Kye had a Beethoven symphony on. I very nearly turned around to make a comment to the effect of, "You know, Dianna hates Beethoven. Not that I mind it, at all, but it's something to consider in the future." But then I decided that such a comment might be interpreted as a bit dickish, so I held off.
Okay. Okay. What?
My problems with this are twofold. One is that I object to the passive-aggressive phrasing of "just something to consider" -- it's my opinion that in most cases where that phrase is used it is not in fact something to consider, but rather something to remedy promptly. It's deliberate miscommunication for the sake of not having to be confrontational.
Two, why should anyone feel compelled to raise on my behalf an objection which I am perfectly capable, if I feel it's warranted, of raising myself? I live in the room, I do in fact dislike most Beethoven (notably excepting Moonlight Sonata), and I have my own functioning vocal apparatus. To my knowledge I do not require spokespeople, which is something of which I have been trying unsuccessfully to convince my mother for about 20 years.
In short, you can be glad that I wholeheartedly support your refraining from making that comment.
I'm sorry for my last comment. In retrospect, it was much more paternalistic than I intended it to be. It was not intended to imply that you were incapable of resolving this problem yourself, nor that an earlier intervention on my part would have resolved it for you, nor that said intervention would have been a good idea.
The phrase "very nearly" in the above comment was an exaggeration for rhetorical effect, and the phrasing of the allegedly intended remark to Kye was wholely fabricated at the time I posted the comment. A more accurate summary of what went through my mind would be something like, "Oh, that's the third movement of Beethoven's Ninth. I wonder if Kye knows that Dianna isn't a fan? Maybe I should tell him. Nah, it's none of my business."
Given that I do not, myself, appreciate others speaking for me, as when I got out to eat and others feel the need to explain that I'm vegan when I politely decline something buttery/cheesy/meaty, I can assure you that I did not seriously entertain the possibility of apprising Kye of your distaste.
I may have come down slightly hard on you just there, probably precisely because I spend so much time fighting battles over whether I get to fight my own battles or not. I offer my counter-apologies.
In any case, Kye is well aware of my dislike of strident classical music. We're quite clear on where we stand with stridentness now, and I'd like to point out that today he was listening to perfectly lovely mid-period Beatles.