Oh so THAT'S why I sound like a man.

Freddie Mercury. Bette Middler. Rod Stewart. Justin Timberlake. Whitney Houston. Robert Plant. Julie Andrews. Annie Lennox. Madonna. Nathan Lane. Joni Mitchell.

What do all of these awesome people have in common? Herpes.

Just kidding! But at some point in their lives they have all developed a condition called vocal nodules likely due to the strain they put on their vocal chords from their acting and singing careers. Basically, we're taking about a mass of tissue growing in the middle of each of vocal chord, preventing the normal airflow that it takes to create a clear, unobstructed sound.

Thus the person with the vocal nodules is sporting a not-so-sexy hoarse and painful voice that frequently breaks like a pre-pubescent boy and has trouble sustaining long notes or projecting over ambient noise.

Now I'm not a professional singer or actor, but I sure got 'em. I invite you to take a gander at the current state of my vocal chords and then I'll teach you more. These pictures were taken a couple of weeks ago. Say hi to my chords!



When you are not talking, your chords stay open like the second picture. When you talk or sing or clear your throat or hum, the folds flap open and closed like the wings of a hummigbird, and that vibration is how we make noise. The problem with vocal nodules (or nodes, as they are often referred to) is that when you are making noise and your vocal chords are flapping open and closed (at practically a supersonic rate that can only be detected by slow motion scope cameras), those bumps are slamming against each other. That means it's almost impossible for them to heal.

See in the first picture how there are air pockets on top of and below that nodes? That means there is extra air escaping when I talk, which explains why I have a breathy, smoker's man-voice. And since that extra air is escaping when I hold out notes, that's why I run out of breath much faster than those around me when I'm saying a long sentence or trying to sustain a note.

Ok - so why did this happen? Well it's hard to tell. But I know it started months and months ago, if not years. And I know that I'm in two choirs, taking improv classes, and on nine nights out of 10 I'm at concerts, comedy shows, in bars or restaurants, or chatting with friends pretty much up until I go to sleep. Plus (and I know this is all no one's fault but mine) I'm kind of prone to loud-talking, over-talking and yes, yelling at times. Now any one of those things could be enough strain on your voice to give you nodules, but all of them together? That's a big fat recipe for nothin' but nodules.

The game plan: Well, in some awful cases of the infliction, surgery is required. But you can tell from the pictures that mine aren't gigantic, and since I'm only 25 I can try to fix this stuff now before it worsens. After my initial ENT appointment where I got diagnosed, the doctor and vocal therapist prescribed eight weeks of vocal therapy and training, which aims to heal the voice I've got and to reteach me how to speak in a way that is much kinder to my chords.

And let me tell you, it is supremely difficult. Reteaching yourself how to talk feels like, I don't know, like reteaching yourself how to walk if you couldn't feel your legs. I think about every word that comes out of my mouth. In therapy, we start with one letter at a time and learn how to use words that start with that letter in a higher register, with more breath being released, and even holding my head in a different place. Through physical therapy we are literally trying to coax my voice box down to a better place in my neck (how alien is that?).

Anyway. I'm not dying! I'm not even sick. It's just...work. And I quit choir. And I'm trying to stop being such a loudmouth and learn how to be a better listener, not just because it's better for other people but literally if I don't stop using my voice so much, there might not be any voice left for me to use.

Plus, if Miley Cirus can get rid of her vocal nodules, then I really should be able to do the same. Party in the USA, guys, right? Party in the USA.

I have the cutest niece on the whole entire planet.

Besides the fact that she's teething and wants to shove your fingers into her mouth and then bite them with her alarmingly sharp bottom two teeth and massive jaw strength...

Besides the fact that she is 8 months old and thus experiencing separation anxiety and shies away at anyone's touch and starts screaming when anyone besides her mom or occasionally her dad tries to hold her...

Besides the fact that just this week she reached an age in which she's old enough to know when she's in the car and thus scream and bawl because she hates being in the car seat...

And besides the fact that we were traveling from Berkeley to Yosemite which is 3+ hours (each way) of oftentimes maddening infant cries and bursts of frustration...

I have to ask you, HOW CUTE IS MY NEW NIECE?!?!?!

The Day I Sucked at Food

Not only is today St. Patrick's Day, it's my dear beloved lover boy's birthday. You know how much I cherish and respect birthdays. Today was all about making it the best day EVAH for him. I skipped my lunch so I could get done with work earlier to get home and start making this the best day. EVAH. We started off with a stop at Pix, of course, for a celebratory birthday beer float with a sparkler in it for him and a cheese plate for me.

Next, we took the bus downtown with plans to get some yummy dinner in advance of the Hitchcock play we'd gotten tickets for. We ended up at a nice brewpub a few blocks from the playhouse. I'm trying to be all healthy and shiz, so I decided to go with the porcini-crusted rock fish despite its hefty price tag. I was expecting a nice fish fillet with a big side of healthy roasted fennel. Instead, what came back was a monochrome pile of butter-soaked, salty potatoes and a tiny piece of fish.

All my eye caught on the menu was the "roasted fennel" and "porcini mushroom." I totally missed the "potato gratin" and "pale ale butter." That was my bad.

But what happened later in the night was just plain terrible. After the play we followed the sound of a bagpipe to find what we hoped would be a lively Irish pub where he could have a nightcap and I could find something to fill my tummy and make up for the mediocre fish dish. I was pleased to see that Blitz served breakfast all day and settled on a nice, healthy bowl of granola with "fresh fruit" and "seasonal berries," advertised like so:

The bartender was initially confused when I asked her for "granola and water," thinking it was an exotic mixed drink, but eventually we got things straightened out... or so I thought. Imagine my surprise when the waitress brought this to my table:

That would be a broken-up Nature Valley granola bar with a tiny pitcher of half-and-half and a side of tater tots. TATER TOTS. Your eyes do not deceive you. When I asked the bartender why it didn't come with fresh fruit, she told me I had to order that extra. So what's included on the menu is "extra," but tater tots are granola's natural companion? TATER TOTS? These weren't even good tots. They were the kind that left that film of ick in your mouth.

Tater tots. I swear to leprechauns. 

Two off the Portland Bucket List

In a many-splendored town like Portland, there are more quirky and wonderful things to do than could ever be done. I started making a list of things to accomplish when I first moved here, from the outlandish (getting married at Voodoo Doughnuts) to the things I will throw a hissy fit if I don't accomplish in the next six months (if I don't go berry picking on the Fruit Loop by my birthday there will be hell to pay).

This glorious, sunny, bird-chirping, flower-blooming weekend gifted me with two things I can cross off my list.

The first something was the Beer Float at that pastry shop I can't quit, Pix Patisserie. From the first time I laid eyes on it on the menu I was intrigued. It just makes sense. If a root beer float can work, why not beer? Though the thought of Lance Armstrong's disapproving gaze kept me from ordering one, it didn't stop me from making a buddy get one and then letting me have sips.

World, I have tasted a beer float, and it was good. There's something about chocolate stout and mocha ice cream that just works.

The second item now crossed off my list is the Kennedy School Soaking Pool. There are these brilliant folks here named the McMenamins who took a number of dilapidated buildings like power stations, danky brewpubs, and schools and renovated them into movie theaters, restaurants, and hotels.

The Kennedy School, conveniently located near me, is most intriguing to me because it was always my dream in life to have a sleepover at my elementary school. I just loved school that much. Though I doubt we'll ever rent a hotel room here--our real rooms being so close and all-- the next best thing was to hang out in the outdoor, heated, saltwater soaking pool under the stars.

Tinkle Pirate

Alternative title: H20mgI'veneverhadtopeethismuchinmylife

One of the things I like about tracking my calories on Livestrong.com is that it has an incredible incentive for drinking enough water during the day. With every 8 ounces your glass fills up a bit more, and then--get this, guys--your virtual water cup will spillith over and it's as if Lance Armstrong himself is wishing you a hearty "Congratulations!" It feels like what I imagine winning a bronze medal in short track speed skating relay would: frenzied, euphoric, and delirious.

I must have been moderately to severely dehydrated for my entire life because ingesting the recommended 64 ounces has sent me to the little girls' room four times more often than usual. I'm starting to wear a track in the carpet at the office separating my desk from the bathroom. Seriously. I've never in my life relieved myself as often as I have in the past three days, and I don't care that that's an overshare.

Working on my fitness... for real this time

There was about a two week period last June when I got really serious about my health. I joined a real gym (sorry Curves) and started my patented Don't Eat Crap diet. I was working out four times a week and, well, not eating crap. I don't put much stock in the scale (ours will say I'm one weight before I take a shower and after I'm toweled off it will say I've gained 12 pounds), but I definitely trimmed up during that two weeks.

Then my birthday arrived and brought with it my extremely generous aunt and uncle, who treated me to all sorts of culinary delights. My Don't Eat Crap diet became the Why Wouldn't I Eat Crap? I Work Out diet. Lately, what with Valentine's Day and Boeuf and my sister being in town, it morphed into the I'm Going to Eat All the Crap I Want and Not Work Out So There diet.

But no more, dear readers. This time I'm going to make a concerted effort to be disciplined. I created an account on Livestrong.com to track my calories, with the goal of losing one pound per week for the next eight weeks to put me at the weight my drivers license says I am. I started yesterday and thought I was being so good-- two slices of toast for breakfast; a protein shake for a post-workout lunch; a salad with avocado, olive oil and rice vinegar for a snack; an apple turnover for a post-snack snack; and a serving of my orzo with roasted vegetables and feta for dinner.

But by the end of the day I only had 60 calories to spare! And did you know that one tbs of olive oil is 120 calories and 13.5 grams of fat?? I go crazy with olive oil! I liberally splash it on everything with abandon!

Despite that meltdown, I don't intend to become a crazed calorie counter. I'm thinking of this more like a learning experiment to see what change I can effect in myself during the next two months. I've been inspired by the likes of Sarah (whose posts spurred me to join a gym in the first place) to think I can make a big difference by treating myself well.