Waiting for the Drop

Waiting for the Drop:  A Year of Dub-step and Electronica and in Recovery

I

There’s an edge to music that is produced by English artists that is different from American artists-- for one thing.  it moves me to an aggressive and active enthusiasm, that few others do.  English Dubstep is life affirming, to the point that it needs no real reason to be life affirming.

Its beats are visceral in their tempo, its lyrics which have harmonious hooks in them seems to catch like lures on the skin to adjust the listeners’ posture.

In truth I was raised on a diet of country music, bad rap, and the Beatles, and though something can be said for the Beatles, it might be as easy as comparing apples to oranges—current music in the UK makes me want to rip the orange open and as I devour it, let the juice dribble down my chin.

One can occasionally see the in roads that British MC’s have dropped on unsuspecting states.  Producer 

Calvin Harris’ Electronica themed music enhanced Rihanna’s “Love in a Hopeless Place.” While also dropping the slightly sultry, slightly upbeat, “So Close” on the music charts.

The truth Is at the time I discovered Dubstep, I had been waiting for the bottom to fall out on my life. After moving in with my enthusiastic roommate, I had started a daily re

At the time, I had moved in with him after a particularly swift and brutal breakup.  On my end, I had conceded many of my possessions in order to share a house with her.  So when H dumped me, shortly after attending about a month of intensive therapy, the woman who I thought was the love of my life, left me high and dry with a futon mattress, my books and my computer.  And at that time, apart from being painfully giddy, I found I was crying quite a bit.  Among all the names I called myself, “Beginagain,” “Rebounder,” “ Captain Hindsight,” the phrase I kept returning to in all my time, was that this was going to be a new beginning for me, and even though I was several months from finding myself—dub-step  gave me a “glimpse of what the future holds” but even then, I didn’t believe I would recover from the drop I had already taken,  and which Sheeran assured me was ”just another day” (Sheeran).  I was waiting for the drop, which I feared would be a permanent fall.

2.  "You know you're only in it cause its hot right now"--Rita Ora. "Hot Right Now."

My room-mate has shown me videos.  One video takes my breath away.  This girl with an angelic face dances in front of a computer screen, and she's just jamming out hard, while it appears the boy who she has been talking to via video chat is frustrated.  His frustration has a little something to do, with his attitude.  She ignores him, and for a moment, throws her hair back, just as the dub-step makes its drop.  What follows is a complete moment of innervation, lights flash, snow falls, confetti explodes.  The world becomes visceral and alive, and all he can do is watch her and frown like a whiny school boy.

Her body becomes the music, turning in it, as if the world has melted away and there is only the rhythm, sound and her dancing.  For weeks, I have been the boy, but right now, when the song moves through me, i want to be the girl.  She cannot be held or broken, her joy is energized on a subatomic level, and she has the fire inside her, and nothing will stop her.

 And then I hear the words.  "Back in control of my life."  The song is my anthem.  It is the strange, sacred truth of my situation.  I am in control, and i have the fire.   For a moment, I can hear Rita Ora say something else, but right now, I'm in the heat of the moment, and I want to let it go and go and never turn back.

"To Make this world Work for me. And I won't Waste it."--Devolution

3.  “Love is not all.  It is not meat, nor drink.”

When I start over at  38, I choose to start over.  The house I live in is on Duffy Street in Garland Texas, and I’m told by my excited neighbor is that Garland is the model they use for Arlen in “King of the Hill.”  My neighbor’s name is Doughtry, and I smile as he sits on his lawnmower, a beer in his hand, and  he wipes the sweat off his bald head. 

Sometimes, I wonder if he knows, there is a singer named Doughtry, or is he actually the character from King of the hill, Bill Doughtry or is it Dautreux, whatever the case, he is 56 and has lived in Garland all his life—his wife left him in 1997, and I left the woman who I thought would be my wife about 5 weeks ago.

          Bill is far from a stickler about where he throws his beer cans, so when he goes inside, I pick them up.  Thus far, my days are a continued run of doing exactly what I want, and eating what I want.    My roommates drink quite a bit—lapsed in their own comatose sadness, but thus far, I  have only rarely felt like crying.

Each day is the same, Bill drinks, I mope, and each day we both start over.

SNAFU in Garland Texas

1.     “I’ll keep on going.  I’ll keep on growing.”--Example

It’s 7 o'clock in my small room, about the size of an officer. One Closet.  One used mattress.  One old desk, and below me a garage full of my books, that I can’t fit into the room.  It’s been 15 days since I left Hollie.  What was first a smile that covered my face has now morphed into an explicable down turned frown, similar to the one grumpy cat wears on a constant basis.   

My rent is 300 dollars.  My room has a walking strip of about 3 feet, but 12 feet, and one of my bookshelves takes up a third of the room.  Rent is due on the first of every month, no exceptions, and I am expected to throw in Twenty dollars for groceries.  My bank account has a question mark in it, but at present my smile fluctuates between a half frown and a half smile.

Just need to Find me some good good good love

1.      “All the Things you hate I find Fun.  Things you want to do are just done.”  --“Midnight Run.”
 

          At the dinner table, I am already ready to leave.  Your friends have watched me for an hour, after an hour of taking care of Amelie, before putting her to bed, Hollie decided we were having guests.  She pushed through the door with a large grocery sack in hand and stared at me. 

          “You are always behind,” She said, dropping the sacks on the table, “We’re having guests, so change that stupid shirt and pants and put on the new shirt I bought you.”

          “It’s 9 o’clock, and I got home at six and you didn’t tell me we we would eat with your deuschey friends.”

          “I deserve some fun and you never take me anywhere,” She said, and then she looked at me, “Get dressed, or spend the evening alone.”

          The fact she claimed I never took her anywhere was complete bulls—t.  She knew it too, but she wanted some kind of dinner party, and I had had to come home at six, feed Amelie and then get her out of the tub and in bed.  It didn’t matter to her that I had been working since 8 a.m. and she had spent the morning in bed until noon, and her afternoon at Starbucks.

          So, there I was at the table, Bryson, who she called “Brysypoo” affectionately, but somehow this made me want to vomit every time she said it, and Bryce’s flavor of the week, some guy named Vincent, who would probably empty Bryce’s bank account, steal his silverware, and leave him a shell of a man was already drinking most of our good wine and opening another bottle.  It was almost 10:55 and I wanted to Watch Doctor Who, but the look on her face, curled into a snarl.  

  

“Stop being such a child.” She said.