I hated jazz so much. Literally with a passion. Then I lived in NYC. I met and made friends with this one guy who was so obsessed with jazz, he never married. His small Times Square apartment was NOTHING but jazz records (he'd say, "my collection is likely worth millions, but, I guess my estate will have to figure that out."). His only piece of furniture was a massaging recliner he named "Cynthia." He would take me up to the basement jazz bars in Harlem and we'd listen to the kids in the Juilliard jazz program "unwind" and just play.

Then one night it hit me. It was so subtle, no earthquake or anything, but, in this really weird instant, I sort of "got it." I liked jazz.