Surprisingly Not a Bonerkiller: Jazz Hounds

Saying you listen to jazz is a shorthand way to say that you are cultured, like eating sushi with chopsticks or listening to NPR in your car. Always looking to convert non-listeners, they are quick to burn me cds of their favorite artists like Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Charles Mingus. In fact, I have a stack of them in my closet collecting dust right now. Thanks, fellas.

Essentially, they are harmless and awkward folk. They own a tea kettle, they wear turtlenecks (when weather appropriate), and they are pretentious. Total wallflowers, they have bookshelves filled with actual books. It's not that bad. 

Incidentally, jazz hounds have the best pick-up lines. One of the first pick-up lines used on me was when a bespectacled young film major asked if I'd ever heard Thelonious Monk. When I told him that I hadn't, he slyly suggested that we go up to his room and listen to him together. Smooth move, jazz hound!

Apart from that college hook-up, as a general rule jazz hounds don't like me. I prefer music with hooks and harmonies, which they think is lame. And, I'm way too spontaneous for them which is ironic because the very thing they profess to love about jazz is the lack of boundaries. In reality, they usually go for bookish, mousy women who have one crazy thing about them, like a giant tattoo of a dragon on their thigh or a body piercing in an uncomfortable place. Yawn.

So, why are they not a total bonerkiller? It's kinda charming the way they prattle on about their favorite music genre. And, they'll take you to Ortlieb's for your third date, which is a nice change of pace from the usual watering holes we frequent. Sure, jazz hounds, we'll take ya. Well, at least until we get sick of your shtick.