Bete Feroce

Racquetball was more fun than a dishful of firecrackers with gold fuses. I like its comfortable blend of form and anarchy--thou shalt not serve in the same corner three times in a row! (Cf. but thou canst thrash the blue ball onto any wall en route to the back one and terrify thy partner into little fits... with nearly random ricochets accordant with freaky geometry.) It has more in common with human pinball than one might think. I like the first rule as explained by Indie Rocker K: "DON'T look at your partner! (or you'll get hit)"

Finally ordered special wushu shoes today (they're billed as the #1 preference by Shaolin monks, if monks are allowed to have preferences and attachments to earthly things). I hope they make me extra bouncy bouncy now that one of my connecting jumps has proven to be incorrect all this time. R did a rather savage impression of it yesterday and laughed himself into getting a reprimanding blow from me--apparently, I look like a well-intending bunny (the furry-rumped kind that never acts out of bounds) when leaping from one supposedly menacing stance into a new series of punches and kicks. I guess They, the anointed veterans of the dance, would prefer it if I could pass myself off instead as a ferocious vegan beast (see Monty Python's blood-soaked rabbit that guards the Cave of Aaargh for intensity and gleam of red-eyed intent).