I woke up this morning with a slight itch in the lower left quadrant of my otherwise immaculately-structured ear. (Yes, my ear has quardrants.) As the day wore on this itch was to grow into something more pernicious, eventually manifesting itself in its fullness as a craving to hear Mary J Blige.
Now, I, like most men of my social caliber, am not entirely averse to Mary J. We appreciate that she is a very good singer of very good songs, but we do not normally find ourselves abruptly overcome by desire to hear her sing.
Clearly my status needs recalibration because, right now, as we speak, I am positively fiending for Mary J tunes.
There is only one thing to do, one place to go.
Scene: The Internet. Exterior. Our Hero stands before doorman named Google.
- What can I do for you today, Mr Ernest Bazanye?
- First of all, I want to thank you for addressing me as Mister. You, Google, are the only one who ever calls me that. Everyone else is just like, Baz, or Ernest, or “Mere Ernest” or “Gwe kigayi tonquenzing kilabe”. I appreciate the respect. I just wanted you to know that.
- Your search – Gwe kigayi tonquenzing kilabe – did not match any documents.
I have found about five songs so far. Using a very complex, esoteric, intricate and ninjitsu process known as “downloading” that I would explain to you, but unless you have a PhD in Internets you won’t even grasp the basics, I collected Be Happy, Goin’ Down, and a few special live performances which I shall listen to and be sated. You, meanwhile, may continue to enjoy your Rejo and Weezo.
Meanwhile, guess who I found blogging. Lydia Namubiru!