Does your voice get deeper when you get fatter

Does your voice get deeper when you get fatter

http://www.chacha.com/question/does-your-voice-get-deeper-when-you-get-fatter

The voice is affected by weight gain & loss but not necessarily deeper. The breathing is affected which changes the tone quality.

Related Questions Answered on Y!Answers

Voice gets deeper when I lift weights?

Q: Well I want to start off saying I’m 22 so I’m way past puberty.I noticed when I go through periods of lifting weights, I’ll obviously gain muscle, but my voice also deepens. I was under the impression that lifting can increase your testosterone, but not at the levels to really cause the physiological changes that occur if you take straight up HGH.I don’t even workout intensely either. My normal weight is about 155lbs at 5’10 and I usually get up to anywhere from 165-170lbs when I lift. Body fat usually increases marginally but my voice noticeably changes. Does anyone experience this as well?

A: I can’t say that I have experienced that myself and I have been lifting for over 25 years. But I didn’t really get into lifting until I was 26.You say your only 22 and past puberty, well guess what? You may be past puberty but your body has not peaked as far as testoserone is concerned. Men’s testoserone levels don’t peak until your around 26-27 years old on average.So what you are experienceing may still be a result of elevated testosterone levels.

What does this poem mean/how should I read it?

Q: I have to memorize this poem and present it in IPC (Interpersonal Communications) for high school. I have memorized it, but need help on what it MEANS, what the MOOD is, and how I should READ IT (Happily, with sorrow, spooky, etc.)Scary MoviesBy Kim AddonizioToday the cloud shapes are terrifying,and I keep expecting some enormousblack-and-white B-movie Cyclopsto appear at the edge of the horizon,to come striding over the oceanand drag me from my kitchento the deep cave that flickeredinto my young brain one Saturdayat the Baronet Theater where I sat helplessbetween my older brothers, pumped upon candy and horror—that cave,the litter of human bonesgnawed on and flung toward the entrance,I can smell their stench as clearlyas the bacon fat from breakfast. Thisis how it feels to lose it—not sanity, I mean, but whatever it isthat helps you get up in the morningand actually leave the houseon those days when it seems like deathin his brown uniformis cruising his panel truckof packages through your neighborhood.I think of a friend’s voiceon her answering machine—Hi, I’m not here—the morning of her funeral,the calls filling up the tapeand the mail still arriving,and I feel as afraid as I wasafter all those vampire movieswhen I’d come home and lie awakeall night, rigid in my bed,unable to get upeven to pee because the undeadwere waiting underneath it;if I so much as stuck a barefoot out there in the unprotected airthey’d grab me by the ankle and pull meunder. And my parents said there wasnothing there, when I was olderI would know better, and nowthey’re dead, and I’m older,and I know better.Courtesy of PoetryOutloud.org

A: I think it’s like about their experiece and like sadness buthapiness i think if you want to memorize it you should see what certain parts you dont understand and like check the words in a dictionary.

And again, I beg for your feedback. Critique….pleeasse?

Q: I’ve posted this a few times throughout the night, and I know you’re getting sick of it, but CRITIQUE please? :DEli awoke to a symphony of coughs, just as he did every morning. His mother’s cough was deep and throaty, while his little sister Lillian’s was raspy and wheezy. The coughing had been going on for three years now, ever since Eli was fifteen. He longed to be fifteen again, not having to worry about where money was coming from, not having to worry about the polluted air. It was the air that made his mother and sister cough. There were no filters to help them breath; they just couldn’t afford them. Back before his father had died, there were filters aplenty. Eli lay in his bed, reminiscing about the past, and how things used to be. A cough snapped him out of his flashback-esque trance. There no use pining for the past. This was 2034, and there was work to be done. Eli padded out of his “room” of his family’s small house (if it would be called that). Shack would be a more appropriate word. The shack consisted of four rooms: a kitchen/living room area and three bedrooms, hardly bigger than closets. There was running water, but it was a muddy brown, and Eli preferred bathing in the small creek behind the dwelling. It was still dark outside, and he let the of his sister’s coughs guide him to her room. Groping his way through the darkness, he found his way to her bedside. “Shh…,” he whispered, as she began to cough more violently than before. “Eli?” she asked between coughs, her voice barely audible. “No,” he teasingly, “it’s Santa Clause.” She giggled, then squeaked out, “Eli, tell me the story about Santa.” “Well, he’s this big, fat man who visits good kids, and gives them lots of presents around Christmastime.” Lillian coughed, then asked, “Eli, how come Santa doesn’t visit me? Am I not good?” Eli sighed. How was he supposed to explain why Santa only visited the rich little boys and girls to a six year old? “He only visits upper-class, Lilly, remember?” She made a noise that was a cross between a sigh and a cough. “I wish I was a UC,” she said wistfully. “I would buy us a big house, and everyone could have filters, and me and mama wouldn’t be sick, and you wouldn’t have to ever go to work in some stinky rich person’s house ever again.” Though Eli knew it was impossible, her words painted an irresistible picture. “Me too, Lilly.” She started to say something, but then began a series of coughs more irritated than ever. “Don’t talk anymore,” Eli warned. “I’ll go get you some water from outside. I’ll be right back.” He felt his way back out of the room, and out the back door. As he headed for the creek, he thought about what Lillian had said. The pollution of the air had gotten so bad, everyone was getting sick. So some inventor came up with the genius idea of filters, little gadgets, filled with fresh air that you could stick in your pocket. When you need a breath, you simply pulled out your filter, and you were fine. Everyone hailed it as a revolutionary idea. But, as with everything in life, there was a catch. Filters were expensive to make, so they were expensive to buy. And, since you had to replace a filter every month, the population was soon divided into two groups: upper-class and lower-class. Those who were lower class went to work at the jobs no one wanted, or they were employed at an upper-class person’s house, like Eli was. Eli was only eighteen. He should’ve been in school, not supporting his small lower-class family. But that was fate. And who’s to argue with that?

A: The premise of your story shows some promise, but your writing needs a lot of work at this point.You’re putting too much info up front that it becomes and information dump rather than a story.Each word, each sentence, each paragraph, each chapter must push the story forward. Each sentence must be a lead-in to the next.Each chapter must make your reader NEED to keep turning the pages.The use of grammar and the sentence structure make it sound like it was written by someone 12 – 15 years old. Tip: Your first sentence is the most important. This is your one chance to capture your reader’s attention. Make good use of that chance.