Don't You Take It Too Bad

Don't You Take It Too Bad, by Townes Van Zandt

I first heard this song earlier this year. I think it is the perfect song for any slow, rainy morning. Or anytime you're feeling down and tired ( and unfeeling, unloving, and alone. :) ). I love this song because it reminds me that we aren't perfect and life isn't perfect, and to not stress if things aren't going exactly they should. The lines: "And if you go searching/ For rhyme or for reason/ Well you won't have the time/ That it takes just for talking" are great, especially considering how much we search for meaning in a philosophy class. Although it is important to look to the big picture, we can't become obsessed with trying to find something "better" and forget how enjoyable small things in life are.

This song speaks to me, because honestly, I often feel guilty about the person I am and how I spend my time, like I'm not living the "right" way. And this always makes me smile, because I remember that everyone feels this from time to time. Life can be a bit screwy, but there is still beauty found in some of the most common things. How soft the time flies past your window at night. The sweetness of springtime and the sound of the rain. I feel happy and not alone.

As for my personal aesthetic, I love how Townes Van Zandt uses a simplistic lyrical style in his songs to express emotion so powerfully. The instrumentals in this particular song are very pretty and relaxing, and the words are also soft and sweet. They fit together perfectly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lioB6CQeEX4

Tolstoy on Beethoven's "Kreutzer Sonata"

A terrible thing is that sonata, especially the presto! And a terrible thing is music in general. What is it? Why does it do what it does? They say that music stirs the soul. Stupidity! A lie! It acts, it acts frightfully (I speak for myself), but not in an ennobling way. It acts neither in an ennobling nor a debasing way, but in an irritating way. How shall I say it? Music makes me forget my real situation. It transports me into a state which is not my own. Under the influence of music I really seem to feel what I do not feel, to understand what I do not understand, to have powers which I cannot have. Music seems to me to act like yawning or laughter; I have no desire to sleep, but I yawn when I see others yawn; with no reason to laugh, I laugh when I hear others laugh. And music transports me immediately into the condition of soul in which he who wrote the music found himself at that time. I become confounded with his soul, and with him I pass from one condition to another. But why that? I know nothing about it? But he who wrote Beethoven’s ‘Kreutzer Sonata’ knew well why he found himself in a certain condition. That condition led him to certain actions, and for that reason to him had a meaning, but to me none, none whatever. And that is why music provokes an excitement which it does not bring to a conclusion. For instance, a military march is played; the soldier passes to the sound of this march, and the music is finished. A dance is played; I have finished dancing, and the music is finished. A mass is sung; I receive the sacrament, and again the music is finished. But any other music provokes an excitement, and this excitement is not accompanied by the thing that needs properly to be done, and that is why music is so dangerous, and sometimes acts so frightfully.

I saw this quote a few days ago. It is from a story by Tolstoy, The Kreutzer Sonata (I have not read it). Interesting, Platonic perspective.

In a way, the narrator here is correct. If we ourselves create a piece of music, it is entirely our own, but what of music which is created by someone completely different than us? Often times, I find myself taking on the emotions expressed in a song, even though I have never experienced them myself in their purest form. I have never been in love, but I still listen to love songs. Art represents the possibility. As Aristotle would say, art represents the universal through particulars. All humans have the capability to experience an event and react to it. For a moment, art can make all these possibilities into reality. It awakens emotions in us that we do not know we have. It extends our own reality to include that of all human existence.

Reflection on 1st Quarter

A few days before school started, I had a dream that I went to this class and was bored and annoyed with it all for various reasons, which I mostly can not remember now. Thankfully, reality ( although I know someone would want to debate what constitutes reality...), couldn't be further from this image!

I wasn't sure to what to expect walking into class on the first day. I have to admit, I laughed a bit at the calming guitar music playing in the background- it was nice, but so stereotypical of a high school philosophy class! I was halfway through Sophie's World, and pretty unimpressed. Even though I was interested in philosophy as a whole, I honestly did not think I had a single thing worth saying to anyone, and I didn't really expect to learn anything of importance from my peers.

But after the first seminar two days later, I knew this would be a great year. Everyone was so passionate and sincere in their comments. There was no feeling of: "I have to speak this many times to get a good grade." It was organic. Everyone was upbeat and engaged, and there was no pressure. It wasn't like other discussions I've had throughout high school. Our class is made up of brilliant and encouraging individuals- the whole environment makes it easier to become interested and involved in whatever we're doing.

I really do like this class. I feel motivated to work harder and participate, not only for a grade, but because I care and I enjoy learning more. I find myself connecting the things we learn in class to everything I do outside of it. And I'm excited to continue learning more about myself and the world in upcoming quarters.

Bookstores

I visit Barnes and Noble in Clarendon at least every other weekend. I can spend hours picking up titles and thumbing through them with my friends or sisters. It's rare that I ever read through an entire page though, and much less likely that I actually take a book home. When I do buy a book, I tend to give up on it and move to something else after 100 pages or so.

On Saturday, I was determined to change that. I charged past the fiction and history sections that usually eat up so much of my time, and starting looking through the science shelves I never noticed before.

I saw The Digital Divide and was reminded of philosophy class, so I decided to sit down near a window and actually take the time to read through some of it. It's been awhile since I've read like this. I read articles on the internet, I read the chapters we're assigned for school and more, and I force myself to read around 10 pages of any book before going to sleep. But sitting by myself in the sun, there was a feeling of calm I don't usually experience. I didn't feel obligated to anything, and I didn't have to think of anything else. I didn't even have to worry about whether the book would be good or bad- it was just the simple act of reading.

The irony of The Digital Divide is that you don't need it. It's a collection of essays discussing the impact technological advances have on us, yet every one of these essays are readily available on the internet. So even though I knew I wanted to buy a book, it wasn't going to be that one. I looked at another book by Bauerlein (this one completely his own), The Dumbest Generation, but the title alone was enough to dissuade me. Looking up at the three shelves, I felt a sinking feeling. There was at least ten books that seemed interesting at first glance (one, coincidentally titled, How We Decide). But how do I know which one is worth devoting time and effort to? I couldn't read through all the books in a single shelf, I wasn't even going to get through the all the titles in a single shelf. With so much thought and effort put into one book, so much information at my fingertips, how would I know where to start?

I left empty-handed, again.

On Sunday, I was hanging out with a friend in Falls Church when we noticed Hole in Wall Books. It looked so quirky and fun that we dropped our plans for lunch and went inside. There were books everywhere. You couldn't see much of the wall. Shelves lined every inch of it, all jam-packed. Books were piled on tables and on the floor. It was exciting. There was none of the organization found in Barnes and Noble. Books from different decades, some costing less than a dollar, were all crammed together in different nooks. I figured I could buy some old 35 cent book with a funny title, go home, and discover a completely random and unknown idea.

I don't know why I didn't.

Does "information overload" exist not only on the internet, but in bookstores as well? I love walking around in them, knowing that there are different ideas, characters and stories existing in every one of the millions of pages. At the same time, I'm filled with a sense of hopelessness. There's so much that I want to know, and I will only ever be able to take in a fraction of the information in one single bookstore. It's so intimidating that I usually leave without even trying.

Music

You couldn't tell it was a Friday night at my house. At 9:30, almost all the lights were out. Both my sisters were asleep, my mom was reading upstairs with only a faint bluish glow from the nook, and my dad was dozing off in front of a muted baseball game on tv. I was rediscovering my love of piano.

Over the summer, I all but completely stopped practicing piano and guitar. Piano became a once-a-week, half-an-hour obligation where I had to try and not disappoint my teacher too much. And I didn't touch a guitar unless my dad asked me to play with him for 20 minutes or so. I felt tired, lazy, uninspired. With the start of senior year, this only worsened, as I was distracted and stressed out by everything school-related.

I'm not sure how to put this, but I felt passive and exhausted at the beginning of this school year. I was getting less sleep than ever, I felt like I couldn't devote my time to anything, I was losing interest in most everything. For awhile, it was basically walking to school and sitting around, then walking home and sitting around. So for those 45 minutes when I finally decided to sit down and create something beautiful, something I love, I felt happier then ever. I was alone in my own world, playing slow, sad, haunting, dramatic, peaceful, beautiful music. And it was all my own.

Music has always been a very personal, intimate thing for me. I don't like to listen to it or play it when any one else is around. Because the thought that something so affecting for me could be silly or wrong to someone else is frankly frightening. At the same time, isn't music a great unifier? Some 3 minute song can move thousands of people. People can have an personal connection with a song, while knowing that so many others have been touched by the same, simple arrangement of notes.

This is why I'm trying to be less insecure and protective of my music. I used to never play piano when anyone else was around- because I might make mistakes and burden them with having to hear something "wrong." And I still look forward to the times when my family heads off to one of my sister's softball tournaments, and I can play one of my dad's SACDS which is incompatible with my iTunes, and spin around and sing alone, free from fear of judgement. But if I play something when someone else is around, and they don't enjoy it, I don't want to feel bad about bugging them. I want to live music. Because the only sad thing is when we are unable to appreciate something so individually yet universally beautiful.

And A Firm Kierkegaardian

(all of these quotes are paraphrased from memory)
Me: Why do you hate Hegel so much?
My Dad: Because he tried to systematize and explain everything. And you can't
do that.
Me: Yeah, but do you just disagree with him, or do you find that, like,
morally detestable?
My Dad: ...Morally detestable.

I'm not sure this is a fair characterization of Hegel, but I think it brings up an interesting question. Could anyone ever create a philosophy complete in breadth? Isn't the world far too large and infinite for one human to attempt to explain it all?

In class, Mr.Summers said that it is "much easier to tear down than to create." How much can we attempt to create before it all feels too futile?

An UnHegelian Thought

The things you do when no one else is around- that's the person you are.

-person in my psychology class