It's My TV….It's My Peanut Butter

Would we drink coffee with Johann Gottfried Herder?

Kristy: Well… I spent the morning reading about him for the umpteenth time and historiography really isn’t my thing, so off hand I kind of want to say no. But on the other hand, my academic discipline owes him a huge debt, which means that I owe him a huge debt. Many of his assumptions about the Volk were hugely problematic, but you have to recognize what a huge deal it was at that time for someone to actually see value in their artistic expressions. And I’m particularly interested and impressed by some of his ideas about vernacular languages. Also, it’s hard not to be amused by a guy who was so entranced by reading Ossian that he didn’t notice when the ship he was on nearly sank. (I realize this story is likely apocryphal, rest assured I will ask about it.) So yes, I will share a cup of coffee with the man. I’d be interested to hear how he feels about the present state of ethnology and folklore. I’d like to know how he feels about his legacy–his ideas have led to great things and horrific things. Was it all worth it?

Cammy: Dude, he’s absorbed in all things German which means I would definitely love a chance to pick his brain. It seems like he was trying to boost German self esteem even before they had their current national self esteem problem brought on by the Holocaust. Rather ironic given that his original attempts to bolster some pride in the German language, history and culture was later perverted to justify and support the shit Germany pulled in WWII. Like Kristy, I’d like to have him talk about that one. And, he had a hand in influencing Goethe, which means I owe him coffee since Goethe is to German literature as Shakespeare is to English literature. As far as discussion of Volk, I’m pretty sure I’ll leave that anthropological-folklore-historiography-other-big-academic-words lifting top Kristy, but even then I’m sure I can take something away from listening in.

In the Cammy Countdown of Christmas Favorites, Silent Night is, and always has been, number one.  And since it’s my birthday (at least it is on the side of the dateline  where I’m hanging out this holiday season), I find it oddly satisfying to get to discuss one of my favorite pieces of music.

Whether you believe the tale that Stille Nacht came into being because a snow-bound Austrian village suffered a broken pipe-organ and the priest and organist decided to team up and compose a fitting musical tribute to Christmas Eve that could be played on a guitar instead., or that  it was that the priest wanted a song that his congregation could sing in their native German tongue as opposed to the plethora of Latin hymns available, the song is, simply wonderful.

Emphasis on the simply.

It’s really not a complicated melody.  It’s simple, easy, versatile.  I’ll admit that I was shocked when I first learned that it was originally written to be far more upbeat and snappy than the slow lullaby-esque version most of us are familiar with.  It works either way.  Speed it up, slow it down, use a full bodied orchestral arrangement, or strip it down to a single vocalist with an acoustic guitar–musically, it’s the little-black-dress of tunes that works no matter the occasion.

Maybe it’s the flexibility of the tune that’s led to the spread.  It’s been translated in to dozens if not hundreds of languages.  I’ve heard versions in Norwegian, Italian, English and, of course, German.  It’s been a common denominator in a pause on a battle field (“Belleau Wood” by Garth Brooks being a fine musical take off on Silent Night in the Christmas Truce….just try to ignore the fact that the battle of Belleau wood was fought in June).  But mostly?  It gives me the warm and fuzzies like no other piece of music in the world.

So, no matter what your beliefs or non-beliefs, and no matter whether your share Cammy’s obsession with Silent Night, we here at MTV, MPB hope you all get the warm and fuzzies tonight, tomorrow night and every night throughout the winter season (onces it warms up, we only wish you fuzzies, not heat).

My apologies to Kristy for this, I know she is not a fan…

In my previous post I mentioned an example of my night-owl-hood in my childhood habit of staying up until all hours on the weekend watching musicals.  This reminded me of a yearly vigil I had yet to keep, and which I will not have the opportunity to take care of after Thursday.

I have watched The Sound of Music once per year, minimum, since I was about 6 years old.  I stopped counting the number of times I’d seen the movie sometime in high school.  At that time it was 82. If I were a little more Sheldon Cooper-esque, I wouldn’t have stopped counting.  And I wouldn’t feel quite so ashamed about the size of that number.  Or of the fact that I can recite every word, name all the supporting nuns (my favorite is Sister Sophia–played by Marni Nixon), and point out the scene in which the real Maria von Trapp walks through the background along with two of her daughters.

At this point, I get that it’s sappy, schmalzy and utterly saccharine in the eyes of most of the universe.  I honestly wasn’t too aware of this until I moved to Virginia and encountered the ridicule of a “friend” in high school who liked to mock me and use this as evidence of my banal and parochial musical tastes (which, in turn, evidenced how parochial I was in general).  He was a narrow minded douche, but I was forced to acknowledge that this movie is not deep or sophisticated.

I’ve stopped trying to convince people that it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.  I have totally accepted that my best friend will never, ever like this movie (but she doesn’t give me shit about it though, for which I’m eternally grateful).  And, until this particular post, I’ve definitely been keeping it on the D.L. with new friends and colleagues.

But that doesn’t mean I can let it go.

The bloody thing is completely entwined in my life.  It was the impetus for many a learning experience: European geography ( “Daddy, where’s Vienna?”), Catholicism (although, for the longest time I assumed all nuns were nice), WWII, the division of Germany, communism (Dad’s lectures go on for a while and branch out quite a bit), submarines, the Austria-Hungarian Empire, WWI (“Daddy, how can Austria have a navy if they aren’t by an ocean?”) telegrams (which I thought were the single dumbest idea in the world and yet I really hoped I would get one someday–still haven’t)….  I spent a good decade measuring my age against the ages of von Trapp kids.  Turning 13 was awesome because Lousia was my favorite of the kids.  Turning 17 was honestly daunting because I was completely without a point of reference, except Rolf, and really, who want’s a Nazi as guidepost?  Not me.  And, God help me, I really, really, really want my own puppet show.

But the biggest connection came in 6th grade. My English teacher, who was truly a kindred spirit, initially connected with me because I’d checked out The Story of the Trapp Family Singers from the school library (the last person to have checked that one out was my teacher when she was back in junior high).  She, it turns, out, had always loved the movie herself.  That led to me being willing to reveal to her that I liked to write.  She was the first adult I ever talked to about writing, and she read, edited and encouraged in a way that (unfortunately for all of you) led me to believe it was something I could do and do well (well actually, all you have to worry about is the part where I think I can write.  The “well” part was adequately obliterated by the College of William and Mary).

So, you see, at some point, this became more than a family-friendly musical of extreme length–it became a focal point for a lot of memories, and the starting point for a lot of education.  When I put in this movie as a comfort flick once a year, I get to wallow not just in nostalgia for the movie itself, but in the nostalgia of late nights in the living room of my old home as an elementary school kid up way past bed time, of spreading out maps on the floor in front of the TV with Dad point out borders, of sitting in Mrs. D’s classroom after school reeling at the wonder of a grown up taking me seriously.  I can see that it’s sappy, but, unlike the douche who mocked my tastes, I also see more than just what plays on the screen.

Cammy: Definitely want to have coffee with this woman.  There’s a shortage of women in the history of science generally, and an even greater shortage of those who get any press time (besides Marie Curie, bless her little Polish heart).  Cunitz was an astronomer in the 1600s in Silesia (Silesian roots, represent, yo).  She improved on Kepler’s laws of planetary motion (and apparently let the housework slide while working on it).  She also spoke seven languages (if you know anything about the location of Silesia, you know that at least 2 of those were just part of the area:  Polish and German).  She allegedly also had skill in music, art, medicine and poetry.  But the fact is, there just isn’t much known about her.  Part of this is due to, well, it was circa 1650.  And part was because of the times.  Many of her contemporaries ignored her astronomical calculations, her correspondence with other scholars had to be addressed to her husband and that same husband had to write a preface to her published work openly disclaiming authorship–because obviously no one would believe a woman capable of math.

So basically?  I want to have coffee to get the straight story here.  How pissed was she at playing games just to discuss her field with others?  When was she born (there are no accurate records to even tell us that much)?  Fleeing Silesia to avoid some of the Thirty Years War Conflict–was that done to avoid conversion to Catholicism (like her siblings who remained behind did), or just because?

Kristy: Yes.  Let’s face it, I might lack anything beyond a very basic understanding of physics and I lack even that when it comes to math.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t respect it.  And a woman of her era who managed to achieve that level of accomplishment in a field people didn’t even think women were biologically capable of comprehending?  That deserves something greater than just respect.  Besides, she seems to have been a serious Renaissance woman (in the figurative sense of the word).  Gotta love a woman who can write comfortably in multiple languages and who advocates the vernacular.  So yeah, I’d drink coffee with her.  I might get lost listening to her and Cammy talk about Germany, Silesia, and science.  But I’ll nod and smile convincingly.

Just after I’d posted Sunday night about the giant penguins, I realized I really should have hit two other big anniversaries for this early October.  Running on the theory of “better late than never” augmented by “better a little late than 6 months from now”:

-October 2 marked the 175 Anniversary of The Battle of Gonzales, the first battle of the Texas Revolution.  Short version:  The Anglo-Texian settlement at Gonzales, in the Green DeWitt colony, had a cannon.  The Mexican government, fearing revolt (from Texas and multiple other Mexican states) came to take said cannon back.  The Texians weren’t having any of that (because, Comanche = bad news and cannon = answer).  First the settlers buried it to hide it, and then they dug it up and used it against the Mexican troops sent to retrieve it, while flying a flag with a picture of the cannon and the words “Come And Take It.”  So just in case you think that the near-fanaticism over the right to bear arms is a new thing to the fabric of Texas, it’s not.  And neither is being a little bit of a smart ass to one’s enemies.  The Texans won, the battle, and eventually, the revolution that followed from it.

-October 3, 20th Anniversary of German Unification:  A scant 4 years before Oct. 3, 1990, my Dad had been going through a map of the two Germany’s with me and trying to help my 6 year old brain understand the whole Iron Curtain thing, and painting a bleak picture of life on the other side, with particular focus on Germany.  I asked Dad if maybe there was a chance that one of these days they might put Germany back together.  His answer was, “No, I don’t think so.  Not in my lifetime and probably not in yours.”   It’s still one of the clearest memories I have before age 10.  Just as clear was my memory of standing in front of the TV watching people rip up the wall about 3 years later and Dad simply looking at me and saying, “Cammy, I can’t believe it, but I was wrong”–both of us knowing exactly what moment he was talking about.  But even the wall tumbling wasn’t the complete repair.  That didn’t happen until 3 October of 1990 when, at the stroke of midnight, East Germany didn’t so much turn into a pumpkin as cease to exist.

With two events like this?  I’m beginning to think early October is apparently a ripe time if you want massive political upheaval of one sort or another.

(It’s also a good time to drink beer).