It was the sigh heard 'round the world, the universal oy gevalt, the geschrei of gals who'd loved him most. The Davy Jones RIP's hit Facebook like the intestinal flu, one after another. There were phone calls of condolence, text messages, emails. A whole lotta "oh noooooos!" Of course, the group grieving got a little nasty at times. "He was my first crush." "Excuse me? He was mine." "I was going to marry him." "Not if I married him first." A loss like this is going to take a while to accept. Personally, I'm still in the denial stage. The Monkees hit in 1966, when I was eight. Even though I loved the Beatles, they didn't have their own weekly TV show, and for that reason alone, Davy Jones seemed more attainable. Plus, he was the perfect height for me. He was funny and, above all, cute. He could sing and dance and his accent was to die for. In summation, Davy Jones was the definition of groovy.