I Miss Whitney Houston Already

It’s 2am on February 26th, and I can finally grieve. I’m sitting here in front of my keyboard crying my eyes out, listening to “I Will Always Love You” on repeat.

I’m just now letting myself go because Mrs. Linc has been devastated, so I’ve been listening to her and being as supportive as I can. Besides, what can some white boy possibly feel about the sudden snatching away of this amazing presence, right? So I’m dealing with my feelings on my own time. I think Michael Jackson is the only other artist who is so completely wound through my life.

How has Whitney Houston been so deep in my life?

“Greatest Love of All”–My fifth grade graduation class theme song.

Her first album was one of the ones I listened to most when I needed to block out the sounds of my parents fighting or my dad beating my mom. Her soothing voice reached right into the middle of me then, just like it does now.

Even though I was mostly a metal drummer as a teenager, a lot of my original drum inspirations came from listening to early rap and West Coast top 40. Growing up in California I was immersed in it. I knew I had a good internal sense of rhythm, but Whitney’s albums taught me to be real careful with my beat placement and sit much tighter in my pocket than I had before. For the first time I understood how much one wrong bass kick or cymbal crash could throw off the mood of a song. No matter where you listen in her career, it’s the most amazing example of drums and voice winding together in support of each other. Ok, maybe the drums are a bit odd on “I Want to Dance with Somebody”, but not every song is perfect.

Being an awkward pre-transition teenager, stumbling through life and painfully embarrassing crushes on the girls around me was horrid. I knew they would never like me back, and “Where Do Broken Hearts Go” was the perfect mope and hope song. I cried so much in my room with that tune moving through my headphones. I also was amazed by “Saving All My Love for You”. I knew she must be telling the stories of real women in that song. As a teen wanting desperately for one girl to be my girlfriend, the idea that there were grown women out there who would willingly play second fiddle to some married dude who would drop by whenever he felt like it horrified me! Ah, teen angst. I wouldn’t do those years again for anything.

When I came out of the closet in rural Michigan, she was waiting for me in remixes in the gay clubs. I instantly felt more at home and safer following the sound of her voice into this new stage of my life.

During my lean, loneliest, lowest and happiest years, her voice was always there. It seemed like every time I had a life challenge or celebration, Ms. Houston had a song that spoke to it. But sometimes I wondered who was taking care of her and inspiring her when she faced her own lonely nights and trials.

When I heard she was dead, it felt like someone had sucker punched me out of nowhere. I hate the thought that starting in March, kids will be born into a world that has never had Whitney Houston in it.

I’m going to go build a playlist or two on Grooveshark now.

Adults Need A Reason

I’m trying to grow food in our one bedroom apartment. Nothing fancy, just some small vegetables. I got a head of lettuce up, but only clipped one batch from it before it died. Turns out I cut it too close to the center. There’s also a couple of strawberry plants and a green bean plant. I didn’t know green beans have nice purple flowers.

Why am I blogging about this? Tonight I bought some more starter plants, and was transferring them to new pots and soil. Sitting in our living room, dirt spilled on the floor and all over me, a realization hit me: I know why so many grownups garden.

If I was sitting in the living room just playing with a pile of dirt, and there were no plants or gardening accessories nearby, people would think I was weird. After all, I’ll be 36 in June. What adult in their right mind sits around playing in dirt when there are IMPORTANT THINGS that must be done! It wouldn’t matter if I told people  it lowers my stress level, makes me laugh, and I like it. It’s just not done, you know.

Now add the plants, soil, and pots back in. Suddenly I’m doing SOMETHING IMPORTANT. Even though I’ve killed almost everything I’ve planted so far, I can call myself a gardener and no one will snicker at me or roll their eyes. Now playing in the dirt isn’t playing at all. It’s work. It has a PURPOSE. Having a purpose makes it something grownups do automatically. Folks may think it’s nice that my stress level drops when I do it, but that becomes a “side benefit”.

Why do adults need a “real reason” to do something we like? What is so sinful about having fun these days?