I read this book called 1959, which as luck would have it, was all about the year 1959 and the popular trends and noteworthy events that took place therein.  The space race, the cold war, some important writers and artists.  And then there was jazz.  Jazz was equivalent to pop music.  People would go to the bar and dance to jazz music.  Jazz musicians were pop culture icons.  Jazz was the thing, like Lady Gaga, but ... not. 

I have some personal experience with jazz.  I spent nearly a decade playing in a jazz band in high school and college.  I invested quite a few hours and a good deal of effort in the pursuit of this hobby.  It was enjoyable.  I don't regret it.  I even took a jazz appreciation class as an elective in college, and it was great.  It didn't involve math or physics, which was a relief. 

But it took me until about three days ago to just finally come out and say it:  I hate jazz.  I can't listen to it.  It makes my ears bleed.  I can't stand the lack of organization, the spontaneous improvisation, the fact that there's no recognizable tune to get stuck in your head or to hum to someone ("Ya know that Miles Davis song?  It starts off like blah-bluh-bloo-beep-bop.").  Perhaps I've honed my anal retentiveness in recent years more so than my appreciation for jazz.  But thinking back, I never actually listened to jazz music.  I played it.  I heard it while it was happening and I was a part of it.  But I never sat down and listened to it for fun.  Whenever I tried that, I lost interest after about five seconds.  And that never went away.  I want to like it, but it's quite repulsive to me.  It's like C-Span, or investment advice -- I'd pretty much rather jump off a cliff, or at least eat a bug. 

But I think I've reached that part of my life where I feel ok admitting I don't like things that I'm probably supposed to like.  I don't like art.  Any art.  I don't like baseball.  And I don't like jazz.  So eat that. #entertainment