Sing

Coinciding with Sony's latest over-hyped PS4 press release, I had planned to come in today and spend a few minutes ranting about the lousy state of the video game world, and how desperately it needs me to help fix some major problems that continue to be "unsolvable", after decades of promoting the same myopic vision, continually falling short of anything discernibly meaningful. Instead, I'm just going to leave it to that one long sentence for now…I need to process and connect with some real-life gratitude. I need to talk about singing. More specifically, Karaoke.

I've always loved to sing. My "big break" came in 3rd grade when I was singled out by my chorus teacher and asked if I would take the lead vocalist role in our school's upcoming Christmas play, "The Candy Cane Kid" (see above photo, with my brother Bryan). I did it, and despite my natural shyness (Meyers- Briggs pegs me as an Introvert, with Extroverted tendencies) my young soul was honored and moved by the experience. In fact, from that point on, I had a legit desire to keep singing close to my heart, as means to both creatively express and, perhaps more importantly, a way to decompress.

Grade school chorus gave way to high school rock bands, then college punk bands, experimental studio projects, and finally, the apex of my path to musical sophistication: Karaoke. Yep, this is were my throat chakra expansions landed, self-respect be damned. Like writing or dancing, I certainly don't kid myself that I have raw talent as a singer, but boy do I have fun, and having easy access to a little fun in life is kind of a big deal.

Ten years ago I would have called myself a full-on Karaoke junkie, and for good reason. Less than two miles from my home there were several great venues to choose from, and a show every night if I would travel a just bit farther. On weekends I would literally spend the whole day signing at the local flea market, and then later in the evening meet up with the same crew of amazing talent that I got to know like family. A few of them were better than just good singers, they were great. Watching a very young James Durbin belt out classic metal songs like a seasoned pro was a sight/sound to behold, even back then. Lisa Leuschner (who would later sing at Karen's and my wedding) became another American Idol alumni, and to this day is probably the most underrated performer in that show's history. But even the less-inclined vocalists, and those who only showed up to watch and offer support, all came to know each other in this clean, fun and safe space where everyone was loved as an equal. We were all there for a common purpose after all, to leave our troubles behind for a moment, and to celebrate life with our little three minute offerings of a heart's best musical rendition. This was a meaningful time in my personal history, as never before or since have I been around a social group whose complete lack of judgement supported such a wide continuum of skill and talent, the opportunity to be safely vulnerable, and in that moment, to be completely real. I could compare it to dancing, which I also love dearly, but there is something strangely healing about being on stage as the center of everyone's attention, just long enough to feel the fire, but short enough not to care. Those were good times.

Inevitably though, times change, people move on, get married, get divorced etc. The flea market closed down, and even though I worked hard with a small group of local activists to get it reopened, karaoke did not return. And when my favorite evening venue shuttered it's doors (the best gay-friendly restaurant/bar this town has ever seen), it really felt like the end of an era. I don't go out singing anymore, or very rarely at best. And today, only one of my original karaoke pals remains in my very small but mighty inner circle. But it's because of him, all these years later, I am still getting a regular dose of karaoke's goofy magic. Today I am expressing some gratitude to Spirit for keeping Max-A-Million in my life for more than a decade now.

By the way, that's not his real name. But as all veterans of the karaoke scene know quite well, every "serious" practitioner must adopt a stage name to achieve the full faux-star effect. Mine was actually given to me, not chosen. Before you ask, the origins of "Mikey High-Note" shall never be disclosed, save for your required physical attendance to be arranged at a karaoke bar nearest you, where I will happily demonstrate the how/what/why this name came to see the light of day.

Max-A-Million has been my most trusted long-term friend since I moved to Santa Cruz. He's a zen master, cultural philosopher, brilliant cook, and damn good singer. Back in the day, he and I would send shock waves through the karaoke community with our ground-breaking duets, singing many songs people didn't realize could be performed as a duet, redefining the possibilities while having the time of our lives. Max is actually an extremely talented performer, and made his living singing the Rat-Pack standards in restaurants, cruise ships and casinos for many years, until he finally decided that singing is more fun when you do it just for fun. About three years ago, he set up a permanent karaoke bar in his living room. While this is not even a remote possibility for most of us, Max, a lover of all things karaoke, is not married and has no kids, so…why not?

It just so happens that the only break I get all week, a two hour "layover" between work and gamelan practice, lands me downtown, right on Max's doorstep. We have been singing, almost every week now for a good long time. I dig 80's new wave and punk tunes, he loves Sinatra and vintage country. Occasionally, it even turns into a little party where other singers show up to do the same. We dim the lights, fire up the disco ball and never have to wait very long before we get our own turn. It's not nearly the same thing as being in a public place, but it doesn't matter. Like giving it all you got in the car, or the shower, are wherever you are most yourself, what's important about singing is becoming the voice for a story you already know and love. It helps us take care of ourselves, and each other.

Yesterday I needed to sing a few specific songs. Some happy, some sad. Max has about 100k to choose from, so I figure whatever mood I'm in, I'll always get to the place I need to be. God bless him, and God bless karaoke.

Calm the Storm

This past year, my body started over from scratch. I am a Bikram yogi.

Two weeks ago I had one of the worst sessions of yoga in a long time. On a normal day, my goal is to keep the struggle on the inside, at least hold a straight face, and perhaps even strive for the most difficult of all advanced maneuvers, pushing up the corners of my mouth. Not giving away your inner turmoil, to "calm the storm" is the path a true yogi, as I am told. I guess this means I'm handling my Facebook profile like a boss? Well…another blog post, some other time.

No, this was a crappy day and I got completely wrecked, inside and out. I was able to push through the standing poses holding a modicum of yogic form, but by the time I hit the floor for the final half-hour of spine stretching, I was a melted, gasping mess of a human puddle. Seemed like no rhyme or reason to it either, just a random (karmic?) side-swipe that left me emotional and dazed for hours after class, wondering if perhaps Bikram Yoga is just too flippin' hard. Of course, I know that it isn't, and as I tell my friend, instructor, and owner of "Bikram Yoga Aptos" Nicole Duke, I'm on the 20 year plan to take over her job. But on that day, "Nicole's Torture Chamber" as she calls it, completely lived up to it's name, and the moment class was over I was out the door to sit on the concrete, mostly naked, in the ridiculously cold (but OMG so refreshing) winter wind, savasana be damned.

I need to give myself a little more credit actually. It's been less than a year adopting Bikram Yoga as regular practice, and there is no comparing even my worst day now with how I began. Decades of bad posture, desk jobs and unattended scoliosis had all contributed to a noticable decline in my structural integrity. My initial practice reflected this damage in a big way, and I almost quit after the first week because it really was so damn hard. Months passed before I could claim predictable success of just getting through both sets of all 26 postures, and even more months on top of that before I would actually look forward to Nicole's difficult classes, as hers have a well-earned reputation for being the hardest and hottest. After all, she has invested in the most state-of-the-art heating/humidity equipment, a world-class studio, and is herself a Bikram yoga national champion. My wife and I joke about the other studios we tried while traveling, and how "vacation Bikram" was such a nice break by comparison, even if it didn't have near the impact. To be honest, a little more vacation yoga in our routine would really be awesome… hint hint, Universe.

Nicole's Torture Chamber is no vacation and she let's you know it. I would describe it as the most physically challenging 90 minutes of mental AND physical exercise any person could ever imagine. But over time I've come to accept this hard work as normal, and I feel incredibly grateful for the magic she creates in that room. Her intention is to bring us to the edge of our own personal best, and then to provide us with tools to "calm the storm" so that we might soon surpass our own limits. I appreciate that so much, now. Was it always my choice to participate in her 115 degree, squeeze-every-fiber-in-my-being-to-the-point-of-breaking routine? Oh hell no. I wanted to run anytime I heard she was teaching a class. Other instructors with a lighter touch, and more liberal use of the all so important water/fresh air breaks were definitely my preference. But as it turns out, child care is only provided during Nicole's classes, which allows my wife and I to practice together. This is a big deal. Karen has become an inspiration, and I can't imagine doing yoga without her now, in and outside of the studio. Yoga has helped us to evolve as a couple, and after nearly nine years of being together, this time feels like a both blessing and a new beginning.

Today, with all the amazing benefits received from Nicole's Torture Chamber, I feel as if I have grown a year younger verses a year older. What price can a "pushing-50" father of a 4-year old put on that?? And, I feel closer to my wife than I have in years, as we have found a common place to mindfully and vitally engage with each other in daily practice. When I say "Thank you" to Nicole Duke, as I do every time after class, I really mean it.

Some stories have a point, or a moral, and some don't. That's just life. But this story actually does. That really lousy day? The one that totally kicked my ass and sent my head and heart spinning around and bouncing all over the place? Well, it was followed by one of my best Bikram yoga sessions ever. It was a breakdown, preceding a breakthrough. And as insignificant or massive as they may be, when these minor miracles happen, I pay attention. This is the voice of Spirit, talking loud and clear.

Mr. Bugs Had Cancer (again)

While the day may eventually come to take a break, I have kept cats and dogs around the house for at least a quarter century. I admit that I am particularly fond of cats, in all their beautiful and mysterious ways, and one gorgeous marmalade girl in particular I have no hesitation in saying was genuinely extraordinary. She was brilliant, articulate and convincingly telepathic, proof in my eyes anyway, that while most creatures are created more or less equal, occasionally there is one created outside-the-box that is truly special. Losing my most beloved feline friend a few years back was nearly as difficult for me as any biped I'd ever been close to. But she was 23 years old, quite elderly in kitty years, and her well-loved life was pretty wonderful from start finish. She had a long, healthy run, as it should be.

This has not exactly been the case for Mr. Bugs, my current fuzzball pal of over a decade. The vet thinks he's about 15 years old, and although he's a sweet and happy critter, he's been dealing with a number of ongoing health issues for quite some time now. I've often wondered if it was the physical and emotional stress of his early life spent in abandonment that took him down this road of chronic health issues, but I'll never really know I guess. I brought him in as a stray when he was about 3 or 4 years old, after at least 2 years of occasional sightings, assuming he was pretty much fending for himself in the 60-ish green-belt acres surrounding my house. It was the day I noticed him sitting upright but motionless in the freezing rain, looking like the saddest creature on the planet, that I just gave in and added a fourth furry friend to my non-human family circle. That was over 10 years ago, and he's the last standing mi amigo el gato of the original bunch.

While he's not in any immediate danger, Mr. Bugs is on a special diet these days to keep his weight down and his skin from itching. I've also starting mixing slippery elm bark into his food twice a week, which has been shown to stave off the most common cat killer, feline kidney disease. He was showing the first symptoms of kidney distress, and I'm very happy to say they have subsided. But it was Mr. Bug's run in with cancer, twice now, that is really worth talking about.

About five years ago I noticed what looked like a small open wound on the top of Mr. Bug's nose. He's an indoor/outdoor cat and has always been a bit of a scrapper so I didn't think too much about it really, until I noticed that the sore wasn't going away. Actually, it was getting worse. By the time I got him to the vet, it was a quarter inch long lesion that had pretty much turned black and continuously bled….not cool. Even less cool was the diagnosis from the vet: Mr. Bugs has cancer, and will likely require most or all of his nose removed if he was to survive.

I struggled with the decisions that had to be made for Mr. Bugs knowing I didn't have a lot of time to make them. While this can get a person trying to "heal" in big trouble, I started doing net research on "miraculous cancer recoveries", and interestingly enough, a substance that had made it into my hands just few weeks earlier started popping up with some very interesting testimonials. It's called resveratrol, a naturally occurring phytochemical (vegetable compound) that accumulates in certain kinds of tissue when a plant becomes distressed. For instance, when red wine grapes deal with excessive heat, cold or even fungal infection, resveratrol is produced in the skin of the grape as a "preservative", for lack of a better word, that protects the fruit. Now, there has been extensive research on resveratrol for heart health and anti-aging, and not just from anywhere, try Stanford and Harvard, if you require academic validation of how interesting this stuff is. But at that time, a "cancer cure" claim was only being made by distressed dog owners who where willing to try anything to save their pups.

As I read what little info was available, two observations started to take shape. One, that direct resveratrol/cancer cell contact appeared to yield impressive results, and two, similar characteristics have been noticed from another more common and better-known substance, green tea extract…..so, why not mix the two and create a topical skin salve?

And that is exactly what I did. Equal parts resveratrol powder and green tea extract were mixed together in a goopy paste that I applied directly to the lesion on Mr. Bugs battered nose, twice a day. The lesion disappeared, completely, within two weeks. That was five years ago.

Obviously, this is one person's story with not a shred of scientific integrity, controls, measurements etc. But I do not take the experience lightly, Mr. Bugs is the last of my furry family after all. That said, just few weeks ago, the lesion made a comeback after the five years of no trace. I caught it early this time, but there was no mistaking what it was. Once again I used the same ingredients on Mr. Bugs, and once again, it quickly disappeared.

There's no arguing the benefits of well-vetted natural medicine. Aloe, folic acid, turmeric ect., all have proven medical effects that traditional Western doctors are only recently seeing as credible. I honestly think the answers for the biggest medical questions are still waiting to be discovered, out there in the jungles and rivers and perhaps even in our own backyards, ready when we are.


PS: Evan Bluetech, one my favorite modern downtempo composers, wrote this piece after his beloved dog Leilani passed away. Beautiful.