Core

It’s pouring rain outside and, truthfully, I’m fuckin-A tired these days with work so there’s no run this morning.  However, there will be a short and easy core/yoga stretch as Day 57 of my “Core Program” with Toby the “Morning Birthday Cat” and this ‘Latin Love-In‘ record by Edmundo Ros.

 

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Now, I know what you’re thinking, I bought this simply solely because of the neon tits on the front cover, right?

Well, you’d be absolutely correct too.

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Hey, at just ¢50 when I’m out Goodwill Hunting shopping, I can make such frivolous decisions such as this.

From the back cover, it kinda sounds to me like ‘ol Edmundo is trying to cite us to initiate a “love-in”.

Unflagging, brash gaiety is the order of the party and if you can’t make it down to Edmundo’s Broadway bash, the album provides the perfect opportunity to start your own love-in.

Yeah … hard ‘No‘.

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But, thanks Edmundo.

But, hey, group sex and technicolor titties aside, this Pickwick release has plenty of choice moments in its ten tracks, particularly the vocal versions of ‘My Favorite Things‘ and ‘The Sound of Money‘.

And, get this, if anyone wanted to make the case that Pink Floyd lifted the idea of having cash registers ring in alternate channels, here is the evidence. ‘The Sound of Money‘ is one of the best experiments in channel separation and a great vehicle for Ros. Subtle use of vibes and flute make ‘Summertimeexotic. The title (‘Latin Love-In’) is farcical, of course, but it does allow for a cover of a nude woman painting herself in florid day-glo paint.

What this all adds up to then, is that this morning’s series of planks and push-ups with Toby the “Morning Birthday Cat” had a decided cheesy-funk World flavor to it.

And I quote:

You can sing along, if you like.  Dance along.  Distribute flowers along.  Or love along.

Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to simply “planking along” thanks.

But, in truth, it wasn’t really so much of a dedicated, sweaty core workout.  My wrist feels wonky and, honestly, I just didn’t feel like giv’er as I have a full 8 hours of that to look forward to … not to mention all the batshit crazy that goes along with it.

Regardless, this did get my blood circulating positively, my wrist feels a bit less stiff and sore and, hey, the kitty litter even got scooped to boot.

You’re welcome, “ya wee little fucka'”.

About crazytigerrabbitman

I am a fat guy and always will be in the same way they say that “once an alcoholic; always an alcoholic”. Eventually I got upset about my poor health and ballooning body frame so I decided to change things for the better. Some people sign up for Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, or whatever fad diet program it is that happens to be occupying the majority of air time on the boob tube. Other people prefer to run out and purchase the latest, fold away, piece of shit being hawked by some celebrity has-been. Me? I decided to take up triathlon. I had abused my body over the years with bacon cheeseburgers, pints of beer and double-dipped donuts, and the time had now come to abuse my body with physical exertion, perseverance and hard work instead; penitence in it's purest form. The time had come to kick my ass. I am Terry Nash and I am the “fat and the furious”.
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