The Banal Chew

At last, something to be happy about

      F`CK YEAH!

California, you rock

...even if I am still bitter about not getting the job at Redlands!

Where's my fingerless glove?

Today was the last meeting of the Breakfast Club in its current configuration...at least for a while.  Per usual, we sat and discussed jobs, travel, rugby, birthdays, sex...you know, typical koffee klatsch stuff. 

Good times.  I love you guys.  Carry on in my absence!  I'll need the goss.

You see us as you want to see us.
In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.
But what we know is that each one of us is
a brain...
and an athlete...
and a basket case...
a princess...
Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.

Alles Gute z.G.!

To my man on his birthday

Roses are red;
Violets are blue.
I'm in my 40s.
Next year you will be, too.

(Sorry, I couldn't resist.
To make up for it, here's some birthday haiku.)

Tuesday, sixth of May,
Nineteen hundred, sixty-nine.
I'm very lucky.

Sun with autumn breeze;
Birthday picnic in the park.
Laughter at your side.

When from time I gaze
Backward upon years we've had
Happy will I be.

The Word is On Your Lips

For whatever reasons, I am loving these tunes n vids right now.
Some old, some new,
Some funny, some blue.

Alphabeat, Fascination

Melanie, Brand New Key

Faker, This Heart Attack

Martin Solveig, C'est la vie (with the amazing U-Min dancers)

Pete Murray w/John Mayer, Opportunity (live)

Plumbing Issues

The verdict is in.  My nose is a mess.

Here's an image from my CT scan last week.

Notice the dog-leg in my septum, which should be a fairly straight line dividing the nose in half. And don't even mention the bony spur...or the extra air sac in my superior turbinate.  Don't know what that means?  Don't worry; you probably don't want to.

For the purpose of comparison, here's an image of a normal nose and sinuses. 

Look at them, lying there and gloating with their perfect septum.  God I hate them.
(Image from ARS.)

Anyway, despite the plumbing issues, there's no dire, visible pathology that requires immediate attention to improve my overall health.  My ENT said that at some point, I will probably have to have surgery to correct the problems, but it's nothing to rush into.

Okay fine.  I just want to be able to sing again like I used to.  When I told him that, he gave me that compassionate look that we've all seen from our medical providers...the one that translates, "Yes, and I wish I could give you the answer you're looking for."

So what's causing the vocal dysfunction?  The upshot: it could be (at least) a couple of things. 

Firstly, there are issues with the hypertrophic (meaty) nature of my sinus passages.  Over the course of my life, upon coping with so many allergies, the mucosal tissue in my nasal passages and sinuses has basically worn itself out.  As a result, it's time to call in some housekeeping assistance in the form of rinsing out my nose twice a day with saline spray.  Hopefully, that will keep the tissues working more efficiently and reduce the drainage into my pharynx...drainage that might be causing the dispatch of signals to my brain that something is wrong, thereby triggering an abnormal vocal response. Wow. Me and mixed signals.  Who knew?

Secondly, there's the teeth grinding that I mentioned in a previous post.  It might be causing hypertonicity (overworking/building) of jaw and neck muscles, contributing to a secondary vocal disorder.  I saw my dentist this week and was fitted for a nightguard.  If that alone doesn't solve the problem, I might have to have caps put on all my teeth to build them up and unhinge my jaw a bit...a big job and thousands of dollars.  Wonder if she'll throw in porcelain veneers for kicks.

Starting Monday, I'm seeing a speech therapist who specializes in hyperfunctional voice disorders.  I look forward it.  I'm ready to get things back on track, vocally. 

Meme

Today, a meme, given to me by Tony the tagger.

7 Things About Me, Random and Weird (and mostly uninteresting)

1. During my senior year in high school, I fell asleep during my college-placement exams after staying up most of the night for the Homecoming Dance and after-party.  I managed to pull an academic scholarship, but I've always wondered how well I would have done, had I not missed answering a good chunk of the test.
2. In college, while I was studying historical voice performance practice, I won a talent contest singing the country song "Wind Beneath My Wings" (before Bette's version came out) and won enough money to pay for my trip to the Boston Early Music Festival.
3. I have three nipples.
4. A former partner and I had been together for over a year when we discovered during a conversation that we had both served as acolytes at the same church during the same time when we were kids.
5. I am a universal blood donor (O-Neg), that is, I would be if the Red Cross ever relaxed its discriminatory practice of barring gay men from giving blood. 
6. I won first place in a 4-H marksmanship competition when I was in 4th grade (with a BB gun).
7. The only time I have ever been deer hunting (when I was in my early teens), I waited until my dad, uncle and grandfather had gone off on their own, put down my rifle, and then crawled up in a tree to read a book all day until they returned.  I scrambled down when I heard them coming back, hid the book in my hunting vest and gave them the half-truth that I hadn't seen anything all day.

I don't tag, but do it if you wish.  It's kind of fun.

Oh my...

Your Slogan Should Be

Have You Ever had a Bad Time in Sandy?

The Slogan Generator

Bemused, I tried my "real" name, too.

Your Slogan Should Be

Wayne Keeps Going and Going and Going

The Slogan Generator

(Found at Tony's.)

Scoping, Scanning, Swinging and Splinting

I'm going to come clean.  I've been in denial.  Today I did something about it.

A few years ago, I was engaged to give a solo (voice) recital for an arts society in Tucson.  As it happens, a week before the concert I came down with a cold.  Fortunately, it subsided enough to allow me to sing the program, but during the recital I experienced a very strange sensation.  I didn't recognize some of the sounds that I was making, and it scared me poopless. 

Now I realized that my voice wasn't back to 100% after the cold, but after many years of performing, I knew when I was able to sing and when I should cancel.  The run-throughs a couple of days prior to the concert had gone well, and after all I had sung over the dregs of a cold before with no problem.  But during this particular concert, something was different. 

I am a lyric tenor...in fact, a tenorino of sorts, "stuck" between tenor and countertenor.  The bulk of my work as a singer came about as a result of my uniquely high voice combined with a specialization in historical vocal performance practice and early vocal repertoire.  Agility and relative comfort in the passaggio (the tricky area between one's chest range and head voice) are key to the technique of singing historical repertoire for the tenor voice, and it had always been a strength of mine. 

During the Tucson recital, I felt something happen to my voice as I performed.  It is hard to describe, but the closest analogy I can use is that of hydroplaning.  Anyone who has had the misfortune of experiencing what it feels like to lose control of your vehicle on very wet road might understand.  It was as if someone took command of my vocal mechanism.  I could steer a little, but basically I just had to go with it and hope for the best.  I got through the recital unscathed, but shaken. 

During the following months, I could sense something was wrong with my voice.  Practice was frustrating and sessions with my voice teacher left me disappointed.  I wondered if I had sung when I shouldn't and done something dreadful to my vocal folds.  Or worse, was there an underlying pathology that lay undiagnosed? 

Here's where a mix of avoidance and denial set in.  I discussed the issue with my teacher, a fine teacher and vocal pedagogue.  His thought was that, because I was involved in doctoral studies in conducting and doing comparatively little singing, I was simply getting out of shape.  Cautiously, I accepted his word and thought that this, combined with a more challenging approach to vocal technique we had undertaken, might be taking my voice in an unexpected direction and I should wait it out for a bit.

Finally, after a few more months, my teacher and I both agreed that something didn't seem quite right.  A speech pathologist friend of mine referred me to a good otolaryngologist in Tucson, and a stroboscope was done.  After ruling out reflux disease as the culprit, I was given an allergy test, to which I reacted off the chart.  I was promptly prescribed some antihistamine spray and told to see how it went.  Then I moved to Australia.  I hoped a different set of allergens would make things better.

Now, nearly three years later, there's really no improvement.  This is where the denial comes in.  I suppose it's been easy enough to neglect the issue, because I decided upon moving here to focus my efforts solely on conducting, rather than singing.  I felt that marketing myself as a singer would "brand" me in a way that would make it difficult for people to accept me as someone equally as competent on the other side of the podium. 

As anyone who has ever read The Banal Chew knows, it's been difficult.  There has been woefully little conducting work for me in Sydney.  I have had a couple of gigs, but nothing substantial or permanent.  After the first year or two, upon realizing the situation here was not going to improve, I began to consider working as a singer again.  At least it would be something in my field. 

It was hard enough in the first place to shed my primary identity as a singer, forged after many years of performing, and assume that of conductor.  When I decided to take my skills as a singer and incorporate them in a leadership role by getting advanced degrees in choral conducting, I knew that it would mean a big change.  But I wanted to continue singing, and I thought the option would always be there for me.  Now, however, with a voice disorder, even that seemed unlikely. 

So I fell into a deep state of denial, trying my best to silence the nagging voices and immersing myself in the business of settling into life as a migrant to a new country, raising Zane, taking part in a maturing relationship as Mark's partner, and getting to know a completely new set of family and friends.  It was easy enough to avoid the issue.

Now, however, as I have realized that my identity as a creative artist is in a frightening state of decay, the need to stop denying the fact that there is something wrong with my voice has become apparent.  And I have done something about it.

I saw a well-respected otolaryngologist in Sydney today.  He performed a nasal endoscopy and gave me the happy information that my larynx is fine.  There are no lesions on my vocal folds.  Oh my God, the relief.  I haven't felt any like that in, well, ever.  If you're a singer, you probably know what I mean.

It wasn't all good news, however.  There are some potential issues with my nose.  I have a very deviated septum and bony spur protruding into my left nasal passage, probably caused by a broken nose when I was a kid, he said.  (I do seem to remember something about a golf club hitting me in the face when I was very, very young.)  Not only that, but there are a few other physiological anomalies as well.  I have just returned from a nasal CT scan to rule out any nasal pathology.  I go back to the doctor next week for the results.  As my friend, Deano, would say, "Oh burrr."

Somewhat more troubling, the ENT also diagnosed me with a very wide mandibular swing, which means my jaw moves substantially to the right as it opens.  According to him, this is usually caused by joint dysfunction associated with bruxism.  In lay terms, that means I grind my teeth.  Apparently, bruxism can lead to hyperactivity of certain muscles that can, in turn, result in a secondary voice disorder.  A mandibular swing...who knew?  I have been instructed to see my dentist for a dental splint to wear at night.  Joy. 

So it's been a day of good news and not-so-good news.  Appendages crossed that the CT scan rules out any underlying disease process in my nose.  And I hope my new dental splint, for which I am getting fitted early next week, turns out to be helpful.  Heck, maybe I'll even sleep better.  That would be nice.  Not as much as being able to sing my favorite Bach arias again, but still nice.

More things I'll miss

When I put on my medical lexicographer cap and sit down in the home office to work, I'm never short of company.  This morning all three of my officemates decided to share the futon next to my desk at the same time...a rare occurrence.

Sometimes I even talk to my officemates.  It's generally a unilateral conversation, but it keeps me sane.  They might be asleep, but I'm sure they're listening on the inside.

Australian Goodness

The list of things I will miss when I move back grows daily.

Sunday Arts is a weekly ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corp) program that sets the bar very high when it comes to comprehensive investigation of the many details that form the Australian artistic landscape. 

Today's episode contained interviews with k.d. lang and Nigel Kennedy, a diarization of a temporary public art installation within an abandoned bus depot in suburban Melbourne, Rufus Wainwright singing "The Art Teacher" live, and a close look at Dr. Neil McEwan's efforts to transcribe portions of the 14th-century Rimini Antiphonal. 

Lies, all lies

Yes, indeed. Bush isn't the only one who must go.

Shameless Pet Pics, cont'd

Oh my God..shewz!

Beauty and the Beast

We have a visitor. Smith has moved in for the weekend while Alison is back in Melbourne for a few days. 

I adore Smith. She's a Rhodesian Ridgeback, somewhere around 14 years young. Don't let her seasoned age fool you, though. She can certainly give Roger a run for his money in a wrestling match. 

Paling into insignificance

My fickle journey through March Madness:

March 20
Go Arizona!  (glancing fondly at graduate degrees)

er...

March 23
Go Arkansas!  (glancing fondly at undergrad degree)

um...

April 7
Go Kansas!  (glancing embarrassingly at birth certificate)

My Inside Voice

When Zane was much younger, he had a habit of speaking very loudly, regardless of where he was.  Over and over, we encouraged him to use his "inside voice." 

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about a different kind of inside voice. 

As long as I can remember, I have headed down life's paths by following the direction of external voices...and thank God for some of that guidance.  I am now realizing, as I read about what it means to listen to one's inner guide, that I have also listened too often to my own voices...voices that emanate from fear and doubt. 

I have spent so much time worrying about why I should or should not do [X], what others will think if I do not follow their advice about [X], and the disappointment that might ensue, that I haven't allowed myself to listen deeply to what my inner guide is telling me.

I think this is the first step in shedding what one book I am reading calls the pseudo-self.  Finding my own inner voice will be difficult.  I have let the others talk over it too much, and to be completely honest, I don't even know if I will recognize it when I hear it. 

But I will try.  I am determined to get through this stage.