A summary of the most common points that come up.

Most Germans do not consider toast bread (i.e. wonderbread) bread.* It is a product you finish baking at home. I have eaten it untoasted many times** in front of them, and a significant number of people*** react in horror.

"Ungetoastetes Toastbrot" is a popular phrase that sounds as insane in German as it does in English to all who hear it, but the reason it sounds insane depends on if the German in question believes it is ethical and proper to consume it untoasted. Alternatively, there is the even more strange but not that uncommon "rohes Toastbrot" — raw toast bread. Which isn't the same as dough.**** Truly die-hard toasters will refer to the bread itself as "Toast" in all forms, as if that will manifest it as the only possible destiny for every slice in existence.

Toast bread is only unilaterally fit for consumption after it has been sufficiently toasted. There are discussions about what shade of toastage makes it "genießbar", but the general consensus is that it's toast the second it gets a crunchy crust through the application of heat. This might be achieved in a toaster, but using it to make a grilled sandwich in a pan, toastie maker or a contact grill is equally acceptable. Just letting it go stale does not count. The application of cheese, mayo or butter to the outside does not influence the becoming-toast process in either direction. The cooling down of the toast does not reverse the status change; not even if the toast is exposed to circumstances that revert it to its previous softness, or even make it soggy*****.

One more or less acceptable exception to toast bread needing to be toasted is when one orders 1) currywurst 2) without fries from a 3) street vendor who does not 4) stock white bread rolls and 5) does not advertise the currywurst as coming with a roll. Any deviation from those 5 points negates the toastbread clemency and is a legitimate reason for grumbling******. The toast bread also has to be of a generic brand, white and cut on the diagonal. One triangular half is an acceptable serving, but two marks a more generous******* vendor.

canon is what happens in the text. e.g. merlin tries to poison morgana

a headcanon is a fact that you have personally made up as an elaboration of canon. it is your invention. e.g. i think morgana and gwen had a teenage lesbian situationship before the events of canon. or, i think modern morgana would love evanesence.

an interpretation is how one reads the existing text. it is not an invented fact nor is it a headcanon, it is a reading. e.g. i think merlin tries to poison morgana out of misplaced self-hatred. or, i think that one line was delivered with suppressed malice and shows a nuanced relationship.

fanon is the general fandom’s accepted headcanons and interpretations that elaborate or recontextualize canon. e.g. merlin is a badass waif and morgana is a bitch.

Image 2 has cumulonimbus incus, cirrocumulus, cumulus mediocris, cumulus fractus and stratus fractus clouds.

Image 3 has cumulonimbus incus, cumulus mediocris pannus, and cumulus fractus clouds.

Beethoven’s “Hammerklavier” sonata, first published over two hundreds years ago, is notoriously considered one of the most difficult-to-play piano pieces of all time.

In particular, when Beethoven sent it to his publisher in 1818, he allegedly said, “Now you have a sonata that will keep the pianists busy when it is played 50 years hence!”, and much has been made of the fact that it wasn’t publicly performed in its entirety until eighteen years later, by Franz Liszt himself.

Except that’s a bit of a deceptive statistic. See, when Beethoven published Hammerklavier, public solo piano recitals/concerts weren’t really a thing yet. Symphonies, sure; concertos, definitely. But sonatas were “parlor” music—a thing played by amateurs, often skilled amateurs, but amateurs nonetheless, in little sitting-rooms for a bit of entertainment after dinner, or at private salons with a guest list in the low dozens. (And mostly they were meant to be sight-read! The culture of obsessively polishing a piece to make it “performance-ready” wasn’t as much of a thing, back then.) People bought these things the way they bought novels, and, just as someone might buy a copy of Joyce’s Ulysses today and enjoy puzzling over the thing, even if they never read the whole thing or feel like they fully “get” it, well… some folks would enjoy sonatas the same way.

So yeah, Hammerklavier didn’t have its first public performance until Liszt played it in the Salle Érard. But also, Liszt basically invented the format of “star virtuoso pianist hogging the stage for two hours” in order to get a public audience at all.

But in the meantime—I think about how wonderful it must’ve been, tooling around on the piano during that 18-year-span where there was no evidence that thing even was playable, or that, if playable, that the thing even made sense. Beethoven was nearly totally deaf by this point, after all, a fact that was publicly known—had he totally lost it? people had to wonder. And the only way to find out would be… well, trying it out yourself!

It has the sound of a gimmick. And I’ll bet it was, at least a little bit—but just because something’s more interesting to play than listen to doesn’t mean it’s failing in its goal. (Though fwiw it is very interesting to listen to.)

It also has the sound of, like, Dark Souls, to be honest. Proto-video game culture. A new game drops and people are asking each other: can anyone beat this boss? can you beat this boss? do you still consider your time on the game well-spent even if you never 100% it?

Biographies generally agree that Beethoven’s metronome markings (which only appear in his later work, and only *some* of his later work) are preposterous—often borderline-unplayable, and certainly not very musical. I couldn’t find a recording of anyone trying to play Hammerklavier at the marked 138bpm tempo, so I got a computer to do it—and burst out laughing at the result because, yeah, 138bpm is fucking NUTS. But whether intentional or accidental, I love the audacity of its being there, like a taunt: I dare you to do more. I dare you to do better. I dare you to try.

Much has been made of how difficulty’s a way of keeping people out—but it’s also a way of inviting people in, I think. It says: do this hard thing and you will be rewarded. You will be rewarded in the trying. Because the trying is the thing that makes the music live; there is no music without you.

Here’s an old bit from an interview with the game designer Porpentine:

“The purpose of a puzzle [in a game] is to provide resistance. For me, that resistance doesn’t need to be coercive or challenging, just interesting and aesthetic. My mechanics are to be touched. Games are perhaps the most intimate art because the player must remain touching at all times. They must touch or the game does not exist.”