Spite

All right, you know that when Beethoven was first starting out as a musician, people were having conversations like this:

Townsperson 1: Good day.

Townsperson 2: It is, isn't it?

T1: I say, did you hear that Beethoven is composing his fifth symphony?

T2: Beethoven?  You mean Ludwig von?

T1: The very same!

T2: Umm...

T1: What's wrong?

T2: Well, I'm afraid what you're saying is quite impossible.

T1: And why is that?

T2: Dude, Ludwig von Beethoven is deaf.

And yet, he was making beautiful music that we still know today!  Isn't that incredible?

Of course, every time I picture Beethoven... Well, before I tell you what I picture, let me give you a little background.  Then you can decide whether you want to read what I picture or not.  It isn't exactly a pleasant image.

When I was in fourth grade, we all had to give a report on someone of significance in history.  This was a Montessori School, so the word "significance" was interpreted widely.  I did my report on Chester Alan Arthur's wife, Ellen.  I thought she was pretty.  But GenericName did her report on Ludwig von Beethoven.  A few of the key points she brought up were as follows: 1.) He was deaf.  2.) He broke the legs off his piano so he could feel the vibrations in the floor.  3.) He often practiced in the nude, with the curtains wide open.

Okay, my little fourth grade self had the same overactive imagination as I do today.  As that fourth grade girl with a detail-oriented mind, I added a couple of elements to the picture GenericName had drawn for us.  I figured he had to be old.  And I figured he was probably drunk a lot (because who in their right mind would go naked with the curtains open?).

***If you don't want to read about the conclusionary mental image created by these aforementioned elements of my limited knowledge, skip the next paragraph entirely.*** 

So, when I picture Beethoven, this is what I see: I see an overweight, old man with a ridiculously huge, curly gray wig.  He's completely nude, holding a glass of vodka, and sitting spreadeagled on the floor in front of his broken piano, shaking the whole house with his thunderous melodies.  Isn't that lovely?

Don't worry, this paragraph is safe to read.  In a way, I find my unconventional picture of Beethoven to be... sort of inspiring.  Because that dude was written off by everyone.  You know he was.  People would walk by his house shielding their eyes, muttering about the crazy deaf guy who lived there.  They only muttered because he had money, otherwise they would have yelled about it.  He would have been slandered openly all over the streets.

And when he went deaf and continued to write music, well... you know he was laughed at.  Heck.  I would have laughed at him.  Wouldn't you?  I mean, before you'd heard his music.  If you just heard the rumor on the street, or read it in the paper, wouldn't you be skeptical?  A deaf lunatic, writing symphonies!  What has the musical world come to these days?

But I think there's a lesson buried in Beethoven's towering powdered wig.  I think we ought to take a note out of Beethoven's symphonies.  We really ought to be Beethoven.

I mean, if Thing 2 scratched my right hand, and it became gangrenous and they had to amputate it, would I learn to write with my left hand so I could continue to write my stories?  Would I type one-handed, knowing I would be ten times slower that way?

Let's say I did.  Then let's say, I got locked out of my apartment on a freezing cold night, and I got frostbite on my left hand.  Now that hand's gone, too.  Would I go to the effort of getting some kind of voice recognition software?  Would I try to dictate my stories?  Or would I just give up?  Because I can tell you, if I went deaf, I would not be trying to write music.  I would be sitting in a corner bemoaning my fate.

But not Beethoven.  He could have chosen to give up, to succumb to what the world was telling him.  His ears were trying to force him out of something he loved.  But did he surrender?  No, good ol' Ludwig put the wig back on, poured the vodka and said, "Screw you, hatahs!"  And kept writing his music.  And I'm so glad he did!  The world would be a darker place without the Ode to Joy.

Beethoven was definitely crazy.  But I am of the opinion that crazy people are blessed above all others.  I think they've figured out something we haven't.  And I want to try to find that.  Sometimes you have to play raucous melodies on the broken piano in the buff.  Sometimes you have to spite all the naysayers just for the fun of it.  Sometimes you have to shock people.

I'm not gonna lie -- you'll never see me get naked in public.  Not even close.  But I'll definitely be rocking the Beethoven way, with my own personal twist.  And maybe (just maybe!) when I die, people will look at my tombstone, smile softly, and say, "That girl was an absolute loon."

I would love that.