A childhood friend was giving a reading from her latest book within walking distance of my office. I was going to go, I wasn’t going to go. A friend said that I needed to do this and reminded me I could stay for five minutes and leave. So, having an out, I went and spent five minutes with this woman I was friends with in elementary school. And let me tell you, five minutes with her equaled five years of therapy. I sort of had more crap than most kids in my neighborhood. In those five minutes I was validated, recognized. She said that little girl, me, was cool. That’s not even why I went, but so glad I did.
I guess I must have liked this album when I bought it. More than one song is not unfamiliar. Karla Bonoff wrote songs covered by Linda Rondstadt, and while she had a pretty enough voice, it’s kind of oomphless. Needless to say, the record is not an inspiring workout album.
But I saved a praying mantis today. It was on the walkway in front of a somewhat high-security building. The young security guard standing outside didn’t know what it was and wasn’t getting near it. I guess they are kind of scary looking if you didn’t grow up with myth that it was a federal offense to kill a praying mantis. We learned to respect them, even play with them, holding up a finger for one to box. I laughed at the guard who laughed at himself for being afraid of a bug, a big prehistoric looking bug, and he watched cautiously as I bent down and coaxed it to hop into my hand. I quickly put it in a bush and reassured the guard that they’re really very gently creatures, unless you’re an insect.
Yes, I do give myself excuses. No workout due to the class. Okay. Next day, went out with a friend. Okay. Then today, the anniversary of the day my brother died, which was five days after his 33rd birthday many, many years ago. I did write today though, just not about exercise, or old albums or memories. I wrote the second story in the erotic murder mystery series that will follow “Sex and Yodeling” and it’s almost done. Well, all but the sex and the murder. My brother would have been so proud.
No, that’s not an album title. I went to a class on blogging tonight, which is why no exercise. It was more like a writing class focused on blogging. Not what I was necessarily looking for, but no regrets – it served a purpose. I’m thinking of turning this exercise to old LPs project into a blog. I’m journaling about it anyway, so what the hell. But – this is major and it’s something I didn’t even realize until hours after the class – I read. I read something I wrote out loud. In front of people with no panic, no throat-clearing , no problem. I introduced it with “this sucks” but read it anyway. No dry-mouth, no palpitations or hot flash. I felt confident. A calm, natural confidence. I don’t read in front of others, particularly people I don’t know. Well, I guess I do now. Usually, I’m a social moron veiled in a thin layer of confidence. But something is changing, I think, as the veil seems to be seeping deeper inside.
Who? I bought 
this in high school 40 freakin’ years ago, for that one song – Dear Jill. My best friend in high school was Jill, and it just happens to be a really good bluesy song. I think. I really don’t know what I’m in for with this record, but it is going to be a great workout regardless, cause tonight I am STOKED! Right before I shut down my computer at work I checked my personal email account. And there was a curious email from an editor at the Huffington Post. They want to print my story “Sex and Yodeling” on HuffPost50 by the end of the year. What?!? I want to tell everyone, but kind of want to wait because, well what if I miscarry. It’s not quite “And the record company Rosie, just gave me a big advance,” and I’m no Bruce Springsteen, but in any case, I plan to lose 22 pounds tonight from sheer elation.
Didn’t want to get into the whole thing 3 days in a row, but I really wanted to move, so after a couple of Cream songs on the radio (it’s two fer Tuesday), I returned to Ram, Side One. Smile Away.
And now, Ram goes back in its sleeve and back in its slot until it’s its turn again, or when I need another Ram break (Ginger Baker drum solo will do that to you).
Noooooo! Maybe I’ll drag this album out again on my next acid trip (as if). I feared I was going to have to work out to a nine minute Ginger Baker drum solo, as the second side consisted of one song, his “Do What You Like.” But it was worse than I remembered; a 15 minute showcase of all the instruments including the dreaded bass solo. And now, here comes Ginger. And yes, I can write lying on my back with my legs up against the wall. Which is what I do for the next nine minutes.
Remembering my brother on his birthday. Coincidently, this was his album that he wrote his last name on and I guess he didn’t want anymore. I think he had slipped this one into my collection and lifted the brown album from The Band AND Delaney and Bonnie and Friends. Sorry to any Blind Faith fans, but I got the worst of that deal. Love you Davey, wherever you are.
Really enjoyed the beer and chicken last night. And tonight, well lo and behold, I am back in it and hey, despite nights, about two weeks-worth now, of horrible sleep, sometimes only getting 3-4 hours of broken slumber, waking up every two hours, I made myself do things today – like laundry. Anyone who knows me knows I have a thing about laundry rooms, I don’t know why, but I do, so that was a big deal. Back to the White Album. What do I do with Revolution #9? It’s impossible to exercise to, even just doing the floor exercises. And then wouldn’t you know it, it skips, and it’s a repeater. So I have to lower my legs, get up and find the right time to bump the turntable to get it going again, also not an easy task. And that John Lennon! Turns out “I Am the Walrus” is just a nonsense song with no hidden meaning, according to research, so the phrase “the walrus was Paul” is probably only profound to me.
I remember the night John Lennon died. Something woke me up at 2am. Something I felt was going to keep me up a bit – no biggie at that time in my mid-twenties. I’ll just turn on the radio, WNEW, and listen as I fall back asleep. But something was up. All the DJs were there, well a lot of them, in the studio, at 2am. The mood was somber – In case you’re just joining us, one of them said as if he knew I had just tuned in, and then he told me John Lennon had been shot.
The Labor Day weekend starts with the White Album.
Forget the cancer, the neuropathy, the lump on my thyroid, the decade long menopause and lack of sleep (okay, so maybe it’s only been five years), and that thing with my eye, I just want to get thin.
The Walrus Was Paul from Glass Onion keeps resonating with me – one of my characters has to say that. Maybe in everything I write. I was just finding it to be so incredibly profound, and particularly meaningful to me. Rocky Raccoon – As a kid, I wondered who Gideon was (I didn’t know a whole lot then), and was satisfied at the end to know that he was looking after Rocky, assuming that the outcome was more positive than it really was. “Her name was McGill, and she called herself Lil, but everyone knew her as Nancy.” How many people can relate to that? I can. Sang along with “Why Don’t We Do It In the Road,” loud and proud. Not exactly the easiest song to forget the words to. Then Paul follows that with the lovely “I Will.” It fits I guess in a normal loving and passionate relationship. But someone will have to attest to that for me.
Saturday night I forced myself to workout, putting on Side 3, feeling weary, again. Couldn’t get into it and uninspired by the album. I have to count this evening as a wash and in all fairness keep the 2nd record of the White Album on the turntable till tomorrow. I think I’ll have a beer and another chicken leg.
I was weary. I felt like working out and debated whether I should stick to my ro
utine. Abbey Road, while having its merits, proved to be a chore. I had to keep reminding myself that I had taken a three hour walk on Saturday, carrying bags with some heaviness along the way back. I was more weak and weary than sore and worried that weak and weary was going to be my new normal.
I wondered why Let It Be is on Capital Records. Where’s the apple? I thought this is the one for which the apple turned red. Ah well. Hearing “The Two of Us” reminded me that my weariness had to have been from my previous venture and I think I have to hear it again. So I do. George Harrison’s contributions to this album aren’t of the caliber of the one’s on Abbey Road – “Here Comes the Sun” and “Something” – and I regret that I was not able to enjoy that album more.
“The Long and Winding Road” was one of my mother’s favorite Beatles songs. Mine too. There are some deep, deep feelings there.
The next up is what seems to be titled The Beatles Again, which I remember just calling the Hey Jude album, as the cover has it printed in small letters along its spine . In any case, I believe it is out of order. It’s a compilation of songs and okay to exercise to.
I catch myself sometimes, when I need to do 30 repetitions, saying something like 27 in my head when I know I’ve only done 7. I don’t let myself get away with it, but have to wonder how I think I can fool myself with something so obvious.
Meet The Beatles! is on the turntable. This was the first album I put on when I first got the new record player set up. Purely by chance. It was also the first album I ever got. I think my father actually bought it for me and my older brother for us to share, although he strongly objected to that “be-bop” music. He must have been having a good day, because this was out of character. And it’s not a good workout album. Too short, and, well, there are better Beatles.
I had decided, since the record was so short, in total less than half an hour, I would meditate after I chant. Yes, I sort of chant. I kind of take deep three-part breaths and exhale with vocals. I like chanting within reason, but meditation is not something at which I’ve been successful. I reprimanded myself beforehand that if I tried to meditate I would not think about work and the mess I may have just gotten myself in, nor anything else that might irk me. I would close my eyes and fix scene 4 of the play I’ve been trying to complete for 20 years now, probably a little more. And there they sat, my two lead characters, looking non-descript and identical to one another. “The thing is,” one said, “we’ve really just got to visualize the opening.” “You’re on the stool – the dark on,” I yelled in my head, trying to differentiate between the two. The blond walks in and says “What the hell are you doing?” and they start to behave as any mythological characters would in that situation. They acted out the opening as I watched from my mind’s front row seat, and I wrote it down. The whole meditation was no more than two minutes, but it worked.
Sgt. Pepper’s is also proving to be a poor workout album. Slow, but appropriate for tonight as I had two dinners and am working out on a full stomach. I’ll have to keep that in mind for when I reach my Linda Ronstadt collection. Those can be the evenings I overdo it a bit foodwise.
The Walrus Was Paul 