This month . . . .

Throwing a Monkey Wrench, part one
     My friend, the one I spoke of a while back who only listens to classical music when the mood is perfect, was joined (in my mind) recently by other friends. Their belief is that we shouldn’t listen to classical music as “background” but should actually listen to it. That is, classical music requires more from us, it deserves to be more than just heard. Fine. I tried making my case again — the one that states the proposition that the world and our time on it is a line-segment with defined beginning and end and even if we don’t know when that end is we should live as if we do and turn on the Schubert and Schumann and let them rattle around in the back in the hopes that they will cover up the daily (really!) noise made by Lawnmower Guy next door or the dishwasher in my kitchen arhythmically clacking two coffee spoons together. And although I know that the people who wrote the music and the people who trained for years and years to perform the music should get more than just an occasional toe-tap from us while we’re doing something so ridiculously mundane that it doesn’t even fall in any field of the Venn Diagram of valuable activities for humans (that chart in which good music is first and foremost among sapient creatures) it doesn’t always work out that way.

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