A long time dream fulfilled. Thanks, Dad.

Some time back in high school, I developed one of my "Someday When I..." dreams. These are dreams that I know will likely never come true, but it's fun anyway: Someday when I am President of the United States.... Someday when I teach kindergarten.... Someday when I have my own TV variety program.... Someday when I am an evil overlord.... You get the idea. I decided back then that Someday when I go to school in either Chicago or New Orleans, I will find a hole in the wall jazz club where I will spend 2-3 nights a week at a small, round, corner table, nursing about 8 mugs of root beer, studying by the dim blue light while the band plays smooth jazz until midnight or 1am -- even 2am if the band and the bar are open that late -- before going home to sleep until 10/noon. This was my dream.

So then I learn that the American Economic Association's annual job market conference would be held in New Orleans the year I'm on the market, and the first thing I thought was "jazz club." Reality has this nasty habit of getting in the way, though. Each day I've been on my feet over 2 hours walking between hotels and interviews to return home with throbbing feet and a desire only to prepare for the next day's interviews and force myself to get more than 6 hours of sleep. Then there's the money issue. All the jazz restaurants I saw online had major price tags, and I was eating most of my meals from some peanut butter sandwiches, Campbell's soup, and Chinese noodle meals I found at a hole in the wall grocery store to save money because I don't have the job yet.

So I was tired, feeling poor, and happy to stay in the hotel watching my new VeggieTales movies and playing Civ IV all night when Dad called. Good young Dad. He invites me out to dinner on him to celebrate a milestone in my long and difficult climb. Well ... I _had_ seen _one_ place nearby that advertized a nightly jazz band and some not too exhorbitant food, so I pushed myself out the door.

I was highly disappointed. It was noisy and boisterous because tonight, you see, was the celebratory night for the LSU/Ohio State game. The band wasn't playing, but the loudspeakers were shortening the life of my ears by a few months blaring out fight songs as the mob inside shouted and cheered. The wait staff refused to serve me so I moved myself to a better table. The band finally came back, only to start in on some country music. Now I have a lot less against country since marrying Joy, but I didn't come to New Orleans to listen to country. So when someone came by to tell me I was not welcome to that table, I bid them adieu.

I wasn't sure where I was walking, wandering up and down a number of streets, poking in a few likely looking hotels or restaurants that had no jazz, but in general I headed was in the direction of the French Quarter. I dodged myriad drunken college students and sidetracked around the entire 20% of the US population who smokes and always seems to walk about 10 paces in front of me, searched for sounds of jazz amid the rap, hip-hop, and 80s music (Girls Just Wanting to Have Fun were in the main square) blaring across every street. I followed the lights, then avoided the lights when I saw what was there, wandered up a dark alley, and suddenly ... there was jazz. I turned the corner, looked, and saw the name of one of the clubs I had found online: Club 300.

They wouldn't be able to sit me for 15 minutes, so would I mind sitting at the bar?
You mean the one next to the band? ... I think I can handle that.

So for the first 20-25 minutes I got a front-row seat! When they moved me to a table, it had a command view of the band. It may not have been quite in the corner, but a command view would do nicely. It may not have been a round table, but that's okay. They were out of root beer, so I nursed 8 glasses of water instead with my meal. I didn't study economics, but I did read a fun book by the dim blue light and the candle on my table. I also didn't stay until midnight, but 11 was late enough. I walked back to the hotel with a nice, happy glow of fulfillment. Thank you, Dad. And I also thank Joy who probably told you I was concerned about the money.

Even though I was very tired and my feet just a bit sorer for additional the 2 miles of walking, I am much less exhausted and ready to leave New Orleans for our own cozy Hobbit Hole in Ithaca as soon as the shuttle arrives to pick me up.