The story of the year, secret until now. − 12 November, 2007
Well, I said, to myself, that I would never write about this. But the horror is going away like the frost on a lawn, now touched by the first rays of the morning sunrise.
My battle with sleep apnea had another effect.
I have always been fighting another battle, a war on a different front: my family gains weight very quickly. I've won and lost several times. However, combined with the sleep apnea, which made me slow and kept me drowsy, it was almost the end of me.
At the beginning of June, 2006, I weighed 261 pounds.
Now? As of today: 193.
Some of you are already spinning up the abacus of the mind, but let me save you the trouble: that's 68 pounds difference (there's a chart below, which I called chrysalis for obvious reasons). And I'm not done yet.
There was no special diet plan other than this: realize that I'm not like the rest of you. Many of you can eat for recreational purposes, and never suffer for it. No problem; that's you. For me, I can't have anything extra. Today I eat exactly 3 meals, with no snacks in between, no calories that aren't useful. My body, my metabolism, is set up to hang on to every last bit of energy it can get.
Now, in the modern world, where skinny is worshipped and adored, this is not an advantage. But in a more practical world, where food sources aren't guaranteed and sickness isn't always treatable, I'm up there with the crocodiles in terms of survival characteristics. One day, when the antibiotics no longer work, and plagues ravage the world, maybe we'll see who Darwin is watching then.
But for now, it's a living Hell I somehow managed to escape from, a societal Alcatraz, a prison of appearance. Let's look at some of the exclusive accommodations in our guest suites:
But the worst problem, and the reason I have kept it to myself for so long, is this one:
As a musician, I have to worry that people will pay attention to my appearance, not my music.
Now, it was only because Kelly Abbott mentioned adding photos one day that I began documenting my life through film. If you notice, I'm not in most of the pictures. Between the first story and this one, I've been up, I've been down. Always, I kept out of sight.
No doubt female vocalists know it best. Look who's successful, and look who's marketed. Listen to who is rated as having a "beautiful" voice. Watch the inane dribble on the music video channel, and see how many women were chosen because of their carefully crafted music, clever lyrics, and evocative voice. Then compare to how many of the songs actually sort of suck, and are performed by someone who was judged to be good on camera, or could dance without toppling over from hunger. Maybe their vocal performance can actually be Milli Vanilli'd into shape, or processed through so many electronics and software packages that they end up sounding like a duck (that'd be Brittany Spears, by the way).
It is similar for male musicians, but nowhere near as extreme. It is rare that I watch TV, but back in the day, I watched the new version of Battlestar: Galactica. It ran on local cable networks with those goofy, generic ads that pollute the airwaves everywhere. In particular, there was an ad for this 'wonder gym' type gadget that would basically turn you into Hercules in 4 weeks. The ad ran like this: "I'm nearly 50 years old, and I'M IN A ROCK BAND! It's because I worked out with this incredible machine!"
What?!?
Did the guy mention anything about actual musical skills? Nope. Only appearance. Crappy lyrics, no singing talent, inept musicianship --- but hey, he looks like he COULD really rock, if ever he'd take time to practice, as opposed to sitting around flexing his weird gym thingie.
It's a sad world.
Flex this, pal: I only need one finger to play the right tune for you.
I enjoy music. Years ago, I thought the world would get better: we'd passed through the 80s and the 90s, both incredibly superficial times. I thought, like a moron, that the internet would provide a bit of equalization. If everyone has a voice, I imagined that the voice would be enough, that actions and thoughts would be judged greater than superficial factors like appearance. I looked forward to a day when regardless of physical ability, nationality, ethnic background, gender --- regardless of all the labels we apply to the shells that hold our souls --- regardless of all that, we could learn to judge people by who they really are inside.
But the Almighty Photogenic Ones (ALPOs) can't take the chance that they might be chatting with someone who isn't one of them, so they demand images.
A French online magazine wanted to interview me by webcam. I declined. Musicians should be judged by their music, not their appearance.
My opinion: Diana Krall sucks, but she's some sort of Stepford Wife Cheerleader Pinup Girl, and therefore is the second coming. And when I go to the gym, only the photogenic folks have made it to the video screen. Rest of us should just wait until Darwin picks us up in the garbage truck or the nukes start buzzing about like Katydids or the big asteroid turns us into the fossils of the future.
Bah.
So I've made it. I wasn't happy being in that state, no. But I'm not like many others who've been there, running out into the street like some crazed Pharisee, passing out damnations left and right to the people who haven't been as "superior" as me. Losing weight was a hard job, and I had to make a number of sacrifices.
I can't go out to eat, socially. Restaurants are off limits. I completely gave up food for any purpose other than survival.
Think how many times you are asked to go to dinner with this person or that person or this other group. Or how many times food is offered to you at work, at parties, at celebrations, at events. All of it is out of my universe.
There is part of me that misses it. But I made a choice. I gave it up so I could stay alive, so I could be with my wife until a ripe old age, so that I could keep on making music, and so that someone would be there to teach the 6th graders of the future about science.
All of these things give me joy. Certainly more joy than a basket of nachos.
My battle with sleep apnea had another effect.
I have always been fighting another battle, a war on a different front: my family gains weight very quickly. I've won and lost several times. However, combined with the sleep apnea, which made me slow and kept me drowsy, it was almost the end of me.
At the beginning of June, 2006, I weighed 261 pounds.
Now? As of today: 193.
Some of you are already spinning up the abacus of the mind, but let me save you the trouble: that's 68 pounds difference (there's a chart below, which I called chrysalis for obvious reasons). And I'm not done yet.
There was no special diet plan other than this: realize that I'm not like the rest of you. Many of you can eat for recreational purposes, and never suffer for it. No problem; that's you. For me, I can't have anything extra. Today I eat exactly 3 meals, with no snacks in between, no calories that aren't useful. My body, my metabolism, is set up to hang on to every last bit of energy it can get.
Now, in the modern world, where skinny is worshipped and adored, this is not an advantage. But in a more practical world, where food sources aren't guaranteed and sickness isn't always treatable, I'm up there with the crocodiles in terms of survival characteristics. One day, when the antibiotics no longer work, and plagues ravage the world, maybe we'll see who Darwin is watching then.
But for now, it's a living Hell I somehow managed to escape from, a societal Alcatraz, a prison of appearance. Let's look at some of the exclusive accommodations in our guest suites:
- Being overweight is the only disability (or difference) it's "okay" to make fun of. Worse, you are expected to laugh along with the joke.
- You are bombarded by constant messages from the media that "obesity" is bad, bad, bad. Therefore you are bad, bad, bad.
- On television, the message is delivered by someone who probably got the job because of their appearance, and who has never struggled against the problem at all. They deliver the message with a little superior lilt in their voice as they say "o-BES-i-ty", secure in their victory, ages ago, when they actually LOST THAT 5 POUNDS THEY HAD GAINED!!! (Woo hoo, hope we saved some fireworks from Guy Fawkes night to celebrate this momentous occasion.)
- You are given exercise and diet advice from the same sort of people: the ones who considered having to lose 10 pounds to be a major crisis, and 20 pounds to be something to write a self-help book about. There they sit, secure and serene, on the other side of the finish line, wondering why everyone just can't be as active or health conscious as them. (Some of the rest of us may have this other thing we do after work, you know, like have a life, but that's why we fail.) They have no concept of being 100 over.
- All of this media attention comes interlaced with ads for food, food, food. The Big Butt Super Atomic Fat Bomb breakfast, available for a limited time only at this fine restaurant (where the food comes in portions big enough to satisfy a horde of angry Vikings).
But the worst problem, and the reason I have kept it to myself for so long, is this one:
As a musician, I have to worry that people will pay attention to my appearance, not my music.
Now, it was only because Kelly Abbott mentioned adding photos one day that I began documenting my life through film. If you notice, I'm not in most of the pictures. Between the first story and this one, I've been up, I've been down. Always, I kept out of sight.
No doubt female vocalists know it best. Look who's successful, and look who's marketed. Listen to who is rated as having a "beautiful" voice. Watch the inane dribble on the music video channel, and see how many women were chosen because of their carefully crafted music, clever lyrics, and evocative voice. Then compare to how many of the songs actually sort of suck, and are performed by someone who was judged to be good on camera, or could dance without toppling over from hunger. Maybe their vocal performance can actually be Milli Vanilli'd into shape, or processed through so many electronics and software packages that they end up sounding like a duck (that'd be Brittany Spears, by the way).
It is similar for male musicians, but nowhere near as extreme. It is rare that I watch TV, but back in the day, I watched the new version of Battlestar: Galactica. It ran on local cable networks with those goofy, generic ads that pollute the airwaves everywhere. In particular, there was an ad for this 'wonder gym' type gadget that would basically turn you into Hercules in 4 weeks. The ad ran like this: "I'm nearly 50 years old, and I'M IN A ROCK BAND! It's because I worked out with this incredible machine!"
What?!?
Did the guy mention anything about actual musical skills? Nope. Only appearance. Crappy lyrics, no singing talent, inept musicianship --- but hey, he looks like he COULD really rock, if ever he'd take time to practice, as opposed to sitting around flexing his weird gym thingie.
It's a sad world.
Flex this, pal: I only need one finger to play the right tune for you.
I enjoy music. Years ago, I thought the world would get better: we'd passed through the 80s and the 90s, both incredibly superficial times. I thought, like a moron, that the internet would provide a bit of equalization. If everyone has a voice, I imagined that the voice would be enough, that actions and thoughts would be judged greater than superficial factors like appearance. I looked forward to a day when regardless of physical ability, nationality, ethnic background, gender --- regardless of all the labels we apply to the shells that hold our souls --- regardless of all that, we could learn to judge people by who they really are inside.
But the Almighty Photogenic Ones (ALPOs) can't take the chance that they might be chatting with someone who isn't one of them, so they demand images.
A French online magazine wanted to interview me by webcam. I declined. Musicians should be judged by their music, not their appearance.
My opinion: Diana Krall sucks, but she's some sort of Stepford Wife Cheerleader Pinup Girl, and therefore is the second coming. And when I go to the gym, only the photogenic folks have made it to the video screen. Rest of us should just wait until Darwin picks us up in the garbage truck or the nukes start buzzing about like Katydids or the big asteroid turns us into the fossils of the future.
Bah.
So I've made it. I wasn't happy being in that state, no. But I'm not like many others who've been there, running out into the street like some crazed Pharisee, passing out damnations left and right to the people who haven't been as "superior" as me. Losing weight was a hard job, and I had to make a number of sacrifices.
I can't go out to eat, socially. Restaurants are off limits. I completely gave up food for any purpose other than survival.
Think how many times you are asked to go to dinner with this person or that person or this other group. Or how many times food is offered to you at work, at parties, at celebrations, at events. All of it is out of my universe.
There is part of me that misses it. But I made a choice. I gave it up so I could stay alive, so I could be with my wife until a ripe old age, so that I could keep on making music, and so that someone would be there to teach the 6th graders of the future about science.
All of these things give me joy. Certainly more joy than a basket of nachos.
chrysalis
