Recently, I started bringing some CD's to work so I could listen to tunes in the office. We hired a new analyst a few weeks back, and she heard the music coming from my office the other day. I think it was some Mississippi Delta stuff or some other old southern blues bastardization of gospel music. "OOOOHHhh! That's nice!" Her exuberance was somewhat off-putting.

The next day, I said to her "Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not shutting my door to be rude or anything; I just wouldn't want my music to bother anyone." I figured if no one heard it, they wouldn't be bothering me telling me what they thought of it. I already know it's good, that's why I'm listening to it, please don't interrupt me with your opinion or that epileptic, pathetic, middle-aged cracker ass-shaking of yours.

"Oh, no problem at all. Especially if you keep playing that jazz stuff you had yesterday!"

Jazz my ass. I smoldered a bit on the inside. Who the hell confuses blues rock with jazz? I kept my mouth shut on the grounds that saying a word would make me look like a music snob, or at least just a prick. Can't have people knowing I'm a prick, no sir. I smile weakly at her and pretend I'm busy.

This morning she comes in and gushes, "You like jazz right?"
"Yeah." I try not to imagine what kind of musical selection or conversation is going to follow because I might laugh. Or cry.
"Have you heard the new John Mayer CD?" I fight the tears welling up inside me. "It's so great! I mean, it's all jazz!" The tears begin to give way to disappointment. "I'll have to bring it in, or maybe I can just burn a copy on my computer!" She sounds so excited. Excited like a retard.

I seriously considered telling her that John Mayer isn't jazz, that I'm utterly perplexed at how she came to such a distinction; that he is in fact just shallow, corny, pop pablum formulated to appeal to a specific audience of juveniles who view the world as a simple place with simple problems and equally simple solutions; that jazz is anything but that; and if she brings in a copy of that CD (which I'd graciously have to listen to all the way through at least once, to avoid the prick problem above) it'll just give me a goddamned headache. But I decide that maybe acting like a complete psycho is not a good idea, so I give some kind of non-committal "Heh" or something.

I suppose the real shame is I hear that he's a good musician; and I just can't get past the lyrics. It's like chocolate covered poo. You're all, "Look there's something covered in chocolate! Yay!" Then you bite into it and find yourself somewhat disgusted, probably nauseated, and feeling like "Why would someone do such a cruel thing like that? Why?"