September 27 – But I would not feel so all alone

Let’s rehash. I’ve been getting into different workout routines, and must confess that I only do a full hour plus a smidge, once a week, maybe twice. That routine starts with the first three songs from Linda Ronstadt’s Heart Like a Wheel as a warm-up. I don’t need to hear “You’re No Good,” anymore, but I use it to get set up and maybe go to the bathroom, then I test my vocal chords with “It Doesn’t Matter Anymore,” and really stretch them with the beautiful “Faithless Love.” If you’ve been keeping up with the blog, you know that this is followed by Santana’s “Smooth” twice, cause once just won’t do, then a number of Sly and the Family Stone songs with “I Want to Take You Higher” played twice as well (same reason) giving me about a half hour of aerobics. Then we are still listening to all of Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black. As I now understand more of the words to her songs, I’m a little disappointed in her talents as a lyricist, and am more impressed with my own interpretations of what the lyrics actually are. Example: In “Me and Mr. Jones,” I distinctly hear her call him “Mr. Slick Mickey,” which I love, but it’s not what she says, and after reading the actual words, I like my version better. Still, she made up for this in voice and style.

So I’m mixing it up a bit in music and duration of the workouts, with the three aforementioned CDs that are relatively new to my music collection and the old Ronstadt album, with some Beatles here and there. Some nights, many really, I just need to start off with Bob Dylan’s “Rainy Day Women,” particularly on those evenings I come home from work frustrated at and by the nincompoops in control. But it seems to be highly representative of the nincompoopy kind of world we live in. So, I would not feel so all alone…

Btw – Speaking of nincompoops, Time Warner Cable. And that’s all I have to say.

Here’s a better by the way: I have been fitting into the size 10 pants lately. Yes I know, this happened last year, but I am more in touch with my foibles and the “we must put on our winter fat” excuse, and I will be much more vigilant as the cold weather approaches. Plus I am eying a lovely pair of size 8 black crepe slacks I’ve hung on to for when that time comes.