Sometimes I DO read the news (and when I say “the news,” I am, of course, referring to the little half-sentence blurb that MSN flashes at me as I’m signing onto my email for the 10th time today). I’ll confess right here and now that the only news I ever pay attention to is Entertainment news, because the rest of it just makes me depressed. Like the Puerto Rican primaries. Depressing.
Anyways, today not even the E-news could cheer me up, and that’s because the guy with the coolest name ever in the history of Rock ‘n Roll is now pushin’ up daisies. I’m talking about Bo Diddley.
Do I know what he did? Not really. Am I familiar with his music and vast influence on the industry? Vaguely.* Does the news of his death sadden me? YES. Why? Because the combination of his moniker plus the first picture found on Google-image-search plus a brief Wikipedia intro all point to one inevitable conclusion: I should have been BFFs with this guy. And now I’ll never get the chance.
I blame my parents.
*This is pretty much an outright lie, except Hubs might actually know who this guy is (which means that I half know who he is, by the divine laws of marriage), but he won’t be nearly as heartbroken about it. So I get to claim knowledge.
LOOK AT THE SQUARE GUITAR!!!