Remembering Monk

This may sound odd, but, I have a morbid fascination with reading obituaries. While this personality tick may repel some, I reaped the benefits today while reading The New York Times' obits, and hit pay dirt. I stumbled across an old obituary from February 18, 1982. On that fateful day the brilliant jazz pianist Thelonious Monk died at the age of 64.

I'm not a scholar of jazz history, nor am I a jazz musician, but when I hear Monk play my heart melts and sings. Now, you don't have to be a jazz junkie to know a reaction like that means you've discovered something amazing! If you aren't familiar with Monk's music, I seriously suggest you check out Straight No Chaser.

This captivating documentary traces the history of Monk's musical career, the electrifying bebop era, and the reactions of a post WWII America on jazz. There are some great live performances and tour footage of Monk's travels through Europe. I doubt there will come along another musician quite as unique and inventive as Mr. Monk.

Best Weblog ever!

Keeping in the spirit of Valentine's Day, I've nominated PostSecret as the BEST Weblog ever!

Setting aside my own deep-rooted hatred for this evil holiday, PostSecret helps ease the pain. Labeling itself as a "community art project", this blog allows everyone from the broken-hearted to the love stricken, to share secrets of love or love lost on homemade valentine cards.

My favorite card is one in which a gruesome surgery is the backdrop for the unveiling of a most sinister secret. The card states, "He's falling in love...But I've been planning to breaking his heart since we met". Genius!

I enjoy this blog because of its creative flare, and its participatory nature. The blog is simple, and there's not a lot of text to shuffle through. Plus, there's even a link to a suicide helpline at the bottom of the blog! (Yikes!) Did I not mention how EVIL this holiday was?

Peg-leg

Two weeks ago my mobility halted completely. One dark and ominous evening, I found my increasing lack of grace not only serves as an embarassing flaw, but also holds irreversible consequences.

I awoke to a dark apartment. Feeling my way to the kitchen for a drink of water, I slipped and fell to the ground with a thud. Screams escaped my mouth. Though, the screams were more than just screams, they were a combination of sobs, curses, moans, and whimpers for help. My sister ran to my aid and unsuccessfully lifted me into bed. I woke the next morning with a blue and swollen left leg.

My doctor's prognosis was a patellar dislocation.

Patella? Yes folks, my patella (otherwise known as your knee cap) popped out of place and slid to the right side of my knee. To make matters worse, my doctor believes I may have chipped a piece of bone (or something). So, there may be a shard of bone swimming around my knee. Gross!

Now, I am escorted around campus via a golf cart, and I have a limp that doesn't give up. All my friends get really flustered that they have to walk at a snail's pace with me. I truly feel like a peg-legged girl. Maybe I should wear an eye patch and seal the deal!