Last week I went with some kickboxing buddies to a kendo class to see how kendo works, as a possible summertime thing. For a long time, I thought kendo and I could be pretty good friends, because it involves screaming and hitting things with sticks, and I am all over that like me on ice cream. Unfortunately, it’s one of those super-ritualized martial arts, where you have to respect the art of the craft a whole bunch and bow every thirty seconds at something. This is the kind of thing that drove me out of Shotokan Karate so many years ago; I really just want to hit things, now please? Also, and more importantly, the stance is the opposite from kickboxing, so it’s right foot forward left foot back, which is so hard to get used to you have no idea. It’s fun in the sense that I find almost everything new fun, but it doesn’t work with my schedule anyway, so I can’t really keep it up.
The other day I went out for ice cream at the fancy ice cream place, because what else to do on a sunny weekday? On the way there, I walked past the place with the horses, and the horses were totally out, ripe for the patting! Awesome! I go ballistic with joy anytime I get to pat a cat on a sidewalk, so you can imagine me with access to a horse for three minutes. Anyway, I got horse spit all over my hand, and then I got ice cream anyway, so if I die suddenly from some horse disease someone show this blog to the coroner, please. Cause of death can be something like “Ice cream is worth more than sense.”