And all that jazz.

Tonight, hit up a jazz club in...the OC, bitch! I was alone (surprise surprise) so my intent was to be the mysterious jazz afficionado in the back of the club, wearing all black, drinking strong coffee and smoking a cigarette. Well, I managed to dress in black (again, how shocking,) but I don't smoke, and I like coffee with cream and sugar, thank you. Not to mention the club was squeaky clean and the band was composed of extremely white octagenarians who played serviceable, if predictable, big band arrangements. So instead I was the slightly pathetic poser, sitting there flipping through a menu I had no intention of ordering from, and chatting with the manager for a bit. He suggested I check out the weekly jazz jam sessions (after first assuming I was a singer, which pissed me the fuck off.) Frankly, I'm scared to do that because I might like it too much. When I listened to the octagenarian octet, my first thought was "I could do that!" And then, "So why the hell am I not?" I keep telling myself I need a college degree to keep my options open if being a musician doesn't work out for me. But it gets so tempting sometimes. If I could get paid to play music, even opening for old white men or playing weddings, I honestly don't think I'd care how much I made. And the window of opportunity feels like it's closing fast. When I graduate--if I graduate--I'll already be too old to stand a chance of making it big. I guess I'll see. If staying in college for purposes unknown gets unbearable next year, I'll take my chances in--terrified shudder--the real world.