My sister and her friends were of the Simon or John camps.  That was fine.  You can have them.  I was alone in my Roger camp.  But I knew, even then, that he was the finer choice, the one with longevity the one who would become more charming and more handsome.  They’ll see, I thought to myself.  They’ll see.

I liked that he didn’t talk much in group interviews.  I liked that he didn’t wear makeup and that he was clean cut.  I liked his smile.  I liked that he seemed shy.  I loved his English accent.  I loved that he was and still is an amazing drummer.   I liked reading that though he took his music really seriously, he also had other interests having nothing to do with Duran Duran.  I liked reading that he decompressed during his down time by working out instead of partying all night.  Years later, when he rejoined the band in the early 2000s, I loved that I could still recognize who I imagined him to be and that he seemed even better than ever.  The same, just older.  And still, well … sigh… very Roger.

So tonight on the very last few minutes of his birthday (4-26-60), a day in history that I have never forgotten since discovering Roger Taylor of Duran Duran years and years ago in New Jersey, I have to say, Happy Birthday, to you, and thanks for being one of my dots.