Since my early-mid-forties, I've been experiencing a gradual hair loss centering around the crown of my head and working gradually outward. So what? you ask; except there's no real reason for me to lose my hair. Neither side of my family exhibited male pattern baldness.
However, for an equivalent time I've been on a medication for a condition I'm not even sure I have. As it turns out, one of the side effects of this medication is that it deprives hair follicles of nutrients,y and people who are on this medication report their hair falling out in clumps.
Hmm.
Not only did I start losing hair, but its texture changed. My hair became dry and brittle. Hmm again.
So for the past week I've been gradually weaning myself from this medication. I've cut my dosage in half, and next week I'll cut it in half again, and so on until I'm off it entirely.
I strongly suspect many of my "symptoms" were caused by allergies, for which I'm undergoing--and this is exactly the word--a series of weekly injections. Those things sting like wasps, but my allergy symptoms are receding. As my reactions to allergens subside, I seem to feel better and better. Or perhaps this is the much-maligned "placebo effect." Whichever, I don't need meds which will turn me into Yul Brynner; I need to deal with my issues in a more healthy fashion.
I'll keep an eye on my behavior, of course. If I start running around nekkid at the mall (at least any other day than Samhain) then I'll see Doc about an alternative.
Will my hair grow back? I don't know. I hope so. I used to have this thick, wavy head of Evangelical-quality coiffishness. I would like to have it back. Maybe I'll grow a mid-life ponytail.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Cycles
Predictably, I find my 'binge period' seems to be in the evening. I seem to crave food in the hours between 7-10 PM more than at any other time of day, especially if I have nothing to do.
This time of year I have a lot of shows due to Post Proms, a custom designed to prevent High School grads from committing alcohol-fueled atrocities on themselves and others after graduation ceremonies, so boredom isn't actually a problem, plus I have my piano to keep me occupied. I wonder if this is part of my metabolic cycle. Perhaps a fibrous snack might help stabilize blood sugar. I think I'll start integrating such a gnosh and see if it helps.
This time of year I have a lot of shows due to Post Proms, a custom designed to prevent High School grads from committing alcohol-fueled atrocities on themselves and others after graduation ceremonies, so boredom isn't actually a problem, plus I have my piano to keep me occupied. I wonder if this is part of my metabolic cycle. Perhaps a fibrous snack might help stabilize blood sugar. I think I'll start integrating such a gnosh and see if it helps.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Of Sinister Restrooms
One of the gritty realities of life on the road is the ongoing game of Russian roulette the traveling performer plays every time he stops to use a public restroom. You simply have no idea what to expect when nature, whose whims and timing are both capricious and malicious, calls, and the
stories I could tell you of what I've found festering across the thresholds of some of those sewers would boggle your mind.
I think the time has come to lift the veil of silence that has long masked this aspect of the performer's life, and that I am the man best qualified to perform this unmasking.
A thing I learned early in my performing career is you don't drive to a show in your work clothes. The seat of your pants wrinkle and the knees sag. One time I had a show in Johnson City, a three hour drive. It was August, a blistering month, so I dressed for a long drive in humid weather: shorts, tank top, sandals. My tux was in a suit bag. I planned to stop near the country club, change into the tux and stride into the venue in glorious sartorial splendor. I found a place to make my change, MAMAW'S QUIK STOP, a small filth-encrusted store and gas station. I got the key to the restroom (connected to a hockey puck by a bicycle chain) and walked around back.
Three disreputable homeless chaps loafed near the restroom; passing a bottle of what was clearly homemade lightning. They nodded and offered southern pleasantries;"Huh;" "Hey buddy;” "Howdy thar;" I nodded back. One toothless fellow, custodian of the jug, offered me a drink. I waved it away. "No thanks."
I entered the tiny building wearing cutoff denim shorts and a tank top. Ignoring the mingled odors of ancient urine, stale tobacco, staler beer, and the yeasty byproducts of various erotic adventures, five minutes later I emerged in a tuxedo, freshly shaved, hair slicked with gel. The old parties stopped their boozing in mid-swig, frozen in tableau like the three magi from
a Christmas display. They gazed in goggle-eyed wonderment at this splendid vision of elegance that had so casually appeared amidst their squalid lot, as though conjured from the very bottle they passed between them.
One of them found his voice. He asked, "Are yew James Bond?"
Of all the dank, fetid, putrescent, cankerous, foul pestholes in which I've been forced to seek refuge on my various travels, one in particular festers with particular virulence in my mind. I'll share it with you.
My son and I were en route from Tennessee to Indiana when sheer hydraulic pressure forced us off the road. We stopped in Jellico in search of a restroom. We pulled into a gas station and my son braved the unknown frontier first. He almost immediately burst forth, gasping for air, face a pale green. “Don’t go in there,” he wheezed. “It’s appalling.”
Shrugging, I entered the cinderblock enclosure. After all, biological imperatives cannot be ignored, and I was the battle-scarred veteran of far worse hellholes than this. Or so I thought.
It was bad. At first I thought a possum had exploded. Then I speculated perhaps some local had curbed his mule. The floor, rear wall, and yes—even the ceiling were spattered with stinking liquid, solids and some other writhing, seemingly semi-sentient material the constitution of which is still under debate by scientists from Oak Ridge. I didn't succumb to the venomous fumes because I was veteran of the road long enough to have mastered the yogic skill of holding my breath for the twelve and a half minutes necessary to complete my business, wash my hands and check my grooming in the mirror.
It occurred to me that if a person—a human being—had been responsible for this anomaly, then the following scenario must have played out. The hapless participant would have had to begin the procedure in the usual position. Then the inexorable reaction of Newtonian Law would have
forced him first into a horizontal attitude and then, as the Vesuvius-like eruption continued, pressed his head to the floor until his, ah nether parts pointed straight toward the ceiling! I calculated the necessary vector equations in the grime-smeared mirror, and it was at this point I realized no natural process could have generated sufficient force, and supernatural agencies had to be at work. As calmly as I could I backed from the mausoleum and shut the door before I fell victim to a similar fate at the hands of demonic assailants.
I found my son wandering around outside, apparently still in shock. I helped him to the car, where he recovered slowly from his toxic experience with the harsher realities of life on the road. In his own words, "I lost feeling in my extremities. I grew cold all over, like I was dying. My legs shook. I almost didn't make it out the door."
These are common symptoms experienced by novices when entering southern rest stops. The merest whiff of that air is more debilitating than serin. The trick to ensure survival is to take a deep breath before entering, hold it until you're finished, TOUCH NOTHING with your skin, and try not to look at anything, lest your psyche be scarred forever. Some things the mind of man was never meant to contemplate, and the feculent contents of southern public restrooms fall into
that category along with the secrets of sausage factories and the inner workings of sunken R'lyeh.
stories I could tell you of what I've found festering across the thresholds of some of those sewers would boggle your mind.
I think the time has come to lift the veil of silence that has long masked this aspect of the performer's life, and that I am the man best qualified to perform this unmasking.
A thing I learned early in my performing career is you don't drive to a show in your work clothes. The seat of your pants wrinkle and the knees sag. One time I had a show in Johnson City, a three hour drive. It was August, a blistering month, so I dressed for a long drive in humid weather: shorts, tank top, sandals. My tux was in a suit bag. I planned to stop near the country club, change into the tux and stride into the venue in glorious sartorial splendor. I found a place to make my change, MAMAW'S QUIK STOP, a small filth-encrusted store and gas station. I got the key to the restroom (connected to a hockey puck by a bicycle chain) and walked around back.
Three disreputable homeless chaps loafed near the restroom; passing a bottle of what was clearly homemade lightning. They nodded and offered southern pleasantries;"Huh;" "Hey buddy;” "Howdy thar;" I nodded back. One toothless fellow, custodian of the jug, offered me a drink. I waved it away. "No thanks."
I entered the tiny building wearing cutoff denim shorts and a tank top. Ignoring the mingled odors of ancient urine, stale tobacco, staler beer, and the yeasty byproducts of various erotic adventures, five minutes later I emerged in a tuxedo, freshly shaved, hair slicked with gel. The old parties stopped their boozing in mid-swig, frozen in tableau like the three magi from
a Christmas display. They gazed in goggle-eyed wonderment at this splendid vision of elegance that had so casually appeared amidst their squalid lot, as though conjured from the very bottle they passed between them.
One of them found his voice. He asked, "Are yew James Bond?"
Of all the dank, fetid, putrescent, cankerous, foul pestholes in which I've been forced to seek refuge on my various travels, one in particular festers with particular virulence in my mind. I'll share it with you.
My son and I were en route from Tennessee to Indiana when sheer hydraulic pressure forced us off the road. We stopped in Jellico in search of a restroom. We pulled into a gas station and my son braved the unknown frontier first. He almost immediately burst forth, gasping for air, face a pale green. “Don’t go in there,” he wheezed. “It’s appalling.”
Shrugging, I entered the cinderblock enclosure. After all, biological imperatives cannot be ignored, and I was the battle-scarred veteran of far worse hellholes than this. Or so I thought.
It was bad. At first I thought a possum had exploded. Then I speculated perhaps some local had curbed his mule. The floor, rear wall, and yes—even the ceiling were spattered with stinking liquid, solids and some other writhing, seemingly semi-sentient material the constitution of which is still under debate by scientists from Oak Ridge. I didn't succumb to the venomous fumes because I was veteran of the road long enough to have mastered the yogic skill of holding my breath for the twelve and a half minutes necessary to complete my business, wash my hands and check my grooming in the mirror.
It occurred to me that if a person—a human being—had been responsible for this anomaly, then the following scenario must have played out. The hapless participant would have had to begin the procedure in the usual position. Then the inexorable reaction of Newtonian Law would have
forced him first into a horizontal attitude and then, as the Vesuvius-like eruption continued, pressed his head to the floor until his, ah nether parts pointed straight toward the ceiling! I calculated the necessary vector equations in the grime-smeared mirror, and it was at this point I realized no natural process could have generated sufficient force, and supernatural agencies had to be at work. As calmly as I could I backed from the mausoleum and shut the door before I fell victim to a similar fate at the hands of demonic assailants.
I found my son wandering around outside, apparently still in shock. I helped him to the car, where he recovered slowly from his toxic experience with the harsher realities of life on the road. In his own words, "I lost feeling in my extremities. I grew cold all over, like I was dying. My legs shook. I almost didn't make it out the door."
These are common symptoms experienced by novices when entering southern rest stops. The merest whiff of that air is more debilitating than serin. The trick to ensure survival is to take a deep breath before entering, hold it until you're finished, TOUCH NOTHING with your skin, and try not to look at anything, lest your psyche be scarred forever. Some things the mind of man was never meant to contemplate, and the feculent contents of southern public restrooms fall into
that category along with the secrets of sausage factories and the inner workings of sunken R'lyeh.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
No, I'm not Dead
Yesterday I went to the doctor--my allergy specialist--and he said he was delighted at how well I was coming along in my recovery. I didn't share his enthusiasm because of what the scales revealed at my weigh-in. Oh, I was happy that my reaction to Indiana's blistering soup of allergens appears to be less volatile than it was at this time last year, and I definitely am feeling a return of my 'oomph,' but I can't believe how much my weight has crept up.
Of course, for a year or more I haven't been able to breathe so my activity level has been very limited. I've had to make myself, with enormous effort, do the tasks that absolutely had to be done. My Holiday party shows were gruesome. I don't think my audiences could tell anything was amiss, but from my end I was in very bad shape.
Sp the news is now that I more or less have established some control over my eating behaviors, today I went over to the fitness center for the first time in over a year. I walked on the treadmill for 25 minutes, then worked with weights for another 20 minutes or so. I would have swam for a while but the pool was congested with a conglomerate throng of oleaginous single moms with their herds of kids in tow; or possibly nannies or housekeeper tending their runny-nosed charges. I don't know--at any rate, the pool was a simmering broth of germ-exuding desease vectors, no fit habitat for a convalescing rake such as myself. So tomorrow I'll try to arrive earlier.
My arrival today was delayed a good hour and a half simply because I couldn't locate the electronic swipey-card that allows us residents entrance to the fitness center (my apartments actually has a very good fitness center). I searched everywhere for it, up to and including decluttering my car (yes I was that goddamned determined) before I had an Eureka moment and figured out one of the cats--spawns of Satan--probably extracted it from my gym bag while the bag was next to the bed. Sure enough, I found the swipey-card next to the bed beneath a pile of used t-shirts, comic books, Subway sandwich wrappers, and mismatched socks. So now, completely accessorized, my plan was complete, better late than never. These cats make my life interesting. When I got out of the shower I was almost suffocated because they had slept on my favorite large towel and deposited several enormous wads of cat hair all over it, which zeroed in on my nostrils and covered my face like one of those face-huggers from the movie Aliens.
But despite these obstacles I completed a rudimentary workout, although a bit woebegone at how out of shape I've become I think I'll make up for lost time fairly quickly. It's a start.
Of course, for a year or more I haven't been able to breathe so my activity level has been very limited. I've had to make myself, with enormous effort, do the tasks that absolutely had to be done. My Holiday party shows were gruesome. I don't think my audiences could tell anything was amiss, but from my end I was in very bad shape.
Sp the news is now that I more or less have established some control over my eating behaviors, today I went over to the fitness center for the first time in over a year. I walked on the treadmill for 25 minutes, then worked with weights for another 20 minutes or so. I would have swam for a while but the pool was congested with a conglomerate throng of oleaginous single moms with their herds of kids in tow; or possibly nannies or housekeeper tending their runny-nosed charges. I don't know--at any rate, the pool was a simmering broth of germ-exuding desease vectors, no fit habitat for a convalescing rake such as myself. So tomorrow I'll try to arrive earlier.
My arrival today was delayed a good hour and a half simply because I couldn't locate the electronic swipey-card that allows us residents entrance to the fitness center (my apartments actually has a very good fitness center). I searched everywhere for it, up to and including decluttering my car (yes I was that goddamned determined) before I had an Eureka moment and figured out one of the cats--spawns of Satan--probably extracted it from my gym bag while the bag was next to the bed. Sure enough, I found the swipey-card next to the bed beneath a pile of used t-shirts, comic books, Subway sandwich wrappers, and mismatched socks. So now, completely accessorized, my plan was complete, better late than never. These cats make my life interesting. When I got out of the shower I was almost suffocated because they had slept on my favorite large towel and deposited several enormous wads of cat hair all over it, which zeroed in on my nostrils and covered my face like one of those face-huggers from the movie Aliens.
But despite these obstacles I completed a rudimentary workout, although a bit woebegone at how out of shape I've become I think I'll make up for lost time fairly quickly. It's a start.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Food Journal, Day Three
What an exciting blog this has been, but I'm sure once I get past the humps I'll have all sorts of funny and insightful revelations to share with myself--because after all is said and done, this journal is essentially me talking to myself; a sort of self-encouragement and sifting thought my own accumulated junque, like when you go through your old closets and come across items you forgot you had, and you have to decide whether to keep them, donate them to Goodwill, or toss them in the rubbish bin. I think my mind has become clogged with emotional and spiritual detritus and sorting though it might not be a fruitless activity.
So if nothing else, for now I can compulsively record my food intake. This morning I had a bowl of raisin bran with soy milk, a cup of coffee with 2% milk, and a banana. Total calories by my estimation is around 500 calories.
I need to pack for the Superbowl and I have a Piano lesson at 2:00 PM, which I have to drive through the Snowpocalypse to get to. I have a full and exciting day ahead. Whoopee.
Lunch was a rather delicious egg-and veggie bacon sandwich on toast, total calories was :
Egg: 70
Bread:130
3 pieces of veggie bacon: 90
Let's call it an even 300. I'm going to have an apple so we'll round off the mid-day at 400 calories, with a mid-day Total of 900 calories.
Today being Wednesday it's my treat day, but I don't really feel like one today (I usually have a treat when I'm gloomy, or when I'm celebrating something) but I fell that tomorrow I'll really need one,so I think I may postpone my treat until tomorrow.
I have 1100 calories left for dinner. How cool. I can splurge. Wonder how much a Dominoes thin crust cheese pizza has? I'll go look.
I just did. It has +- 1200 Calories. That's a handy thing to know.
No pizza but a peanut butter sandwich and soup. The sandwich was around 250 calories and the soup was 450 calories for a total of 700. A cliff bar at 200 for dessert rounded me out at 900 calories Total for dinner.
So my Total for the day so far = 1800 Calories.
So if nothing else, for now I can compulsively record my food intake. This morning I had a bowl of raisin bran with soy milk, a cup of coffee with 2% milk, and a banana. Total calories by my estimation is around 500 calories.
I need to pack for the Superbowl and I have a Piano lesson at 2:00 PM, which I have to drive through the Snowpocalypse to get to. I have a full and exciting day ahead. Whoopee.
Lunch was a rather delicious egg-and veggie bacon sandwich on toast, total calories was :
Egg: 70
Bread:130
3 pieces of veggie bacon: 90
Let's call it an even 300. I'm going to have an apple so we'll round off the mid-day at 400 calories, with a mid-day Total of 900 calories.
Today being Wednesday it's my treat day, but I don't really feel like one today (I usually have a treat when I'm gloomy, or when I'm celebrating something) but I fell that tomorrow I'll really need one,so I think I may postpone my treat until tomorrow.
I have 1100 calories left for dinner. How cool. I can splurge. Wonder how much a Dominoes thin crust cheese pizza has? I'll go look.
I just did. It has +- 1200 Calories. That's a handy thing to know.
No pizza but a peanut butter sandwich and soup. The sandwich was around 250 calories and the soup was 450 calories for a total of 700. A cliff bar at 200 for dessert rounded me out at 900 calories Total for dinner.
So my Total for the day so far = 1800 Calories.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Food Journal, Day Two
On Thursday I'll be leaving town for five days, so I'll be curious to see how well I'll do eating out at restaurants. I used to have mad dining-out skills I learned from my weight-reduction Bible Lean and Mean by Dr. Morton Shaevitz, a book written especially for simple-minded men, who don't want to spend a great deal of time planning meals, weighing portions, and counting exchanges. Actually as a compulsive type I don't mind counting exchanges, but Lean and Mean is still an excellent resource.
Breakfast, for which I actually had time today, was a bowl of shredded wheat with soy milk, and a banana, a combined total I think of around 400 calories. I no longer have the cereal box so I can't ascertain the exact breakdown of the cereal. I bought the cereal at Sam's Club in a huge two-bagger, and as soon as I finished the first bag threw the box away.
I've got one day down and did quite well--let's go for two.
I'll commence my exercise regime as soon as I return from my trip. By then I should have my dietary discipline well in hand. I think the trip should be a good test of my determination. There will be lots of pressures on me to succumb to temptation.
I also just noticed today is the first of February, the worst month of the year. I hate February. It's a sulky, cold, bitter, useless month. Nothing good ever comes of it. I wrote a poem in High School about it:
February is the Unshaven Month.
It lays around in a tattered gray shirt
Too dispirited to even finish
A full thirty days.
Which pretty much sums it up.
Let me keep the running food tally here:
Bowl of cereal with banana: +- 400 cals
Lunch: The other half of the Subway Tuna Sandwich 540 cals
Cliff bar: 185 Cals
Mid-day Total == 1125 cals.
Leaving me 900 cals +- for dinner. I know exactly what I'll have I think.
Update: And I did: I had an Amy's Mexican dinner, 340 Cals and a banana, 125 cals. total for dinner 440 cals.
Snack: 2 waffles with margarine: 300 cals
Total for today = +- 1900 cals.
So for so good; this isn't very hard at all.
Breakfast, for which I actually had time today, was a bowl of shredded wheat with soy milk, and a banana, a combined total I think of around 400 calories. I no longer have the cereal box so I can't ascertain the exact breakdown of the cereal. I bought the cereal at Sam's Club in a huge two-bagger, and as soon as I finished the first bag threw the box away.
I've got one day down and did quite well--let's go for two.
I'll commence my exercise regime as soon as I return from my trip. By then I should have my dietary discipline well in hand. I think the trip should be a good test of my determination. There will be lots of pressures on me to succumb to temptation.
I also just noticed today is the first of February, the worst month of the year. I hate February. It's a sulky, cold, bitter, useless month. Nothing good ever comes of it. I wrote a poem in High School about it:
February is the Unshaven Month.
It lays around in a tattered gray shirt
Too dispirited to even finish
A full thirty days.
Which pretty much sums it up.
Let me keep the running food tally here:
Bowl of cereal with banana: +- 400 cals
Lunch: The other half of the Subway Tuna Sandwich 540 cals
Cliff bar: 185 Cals
Mid-day Total == 1125 cals.
Leaving me 900 cals +- for dinner. I know exactly what I'll have I think.
Update: And I did: I had an Amy's Mexican dinner, 340 Cals and a banana, 125 cals. total for dinner 440 cals.
Snack: 2 waffles with margarine: 300 cals
Total for today = +- 1900 cals.
So for so good; this isn't very hard at all.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Food Journal, Day One
I don't intend to post my food journal every day, but since this is the first day I thought "What the Hell?" Actually in any given day I think "What the Hell?" quite a bit, usually in reaction to other people's bonehead driving, weird hairstyles, rude behavior, and moronic things they say. But in this case, this rather utilitarian phrase, for which I've just gained a great deal of respect, is used in it's role of "Why the hell not?"
So for my Brunch I had a six-inch Subway Tuna sandwich, which breaks down as follows:
Total carbs: 45 g
Total fat: 30 g
Total fiber: 5 g
Total protein: 20 g
Total Calories: 530
I also had a cup of coffee with 1/4 cup of skim milk: 50 calories
1 Bag of Baked Lays Potato Chips
Total carbs 26 g
Total fat 1.5 g
Total protein: 2.5 g
Total fiber: 2.5 g
Total Calories: 130
Which isn't bad for two meals combined. It leaves me with 1300 calories for the day. I have another half of that sandwich in the refrigerator I can finish off for dinner.
I also intend to have a Cliff bar for a snack in a little while, which breaks down as follows:
Total carbs: 21 g
Total fat 9g
Total fiber 2 g
Total protein: 10 g
Total Calories: 200
Total for the midday 1090 Calories.
So sticking to my goal of 2,000 calories per day, I'll have +- 1000 calories for dinner. Properly planned, that's quite a bit.
Dinner turned out to be a bag of beef jerky--vegetarian style, made of seitan.
Total cals=260
And an apple:
Total cals= 180
Total for the day: =- 1, 500 calories. Not a bad start.
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