Royal Ascot Goat Races again. I've been here long enough that I've been to annual events twice. Krazee. I haven't had time to upload my own photos or to formulate opinions distinct from last year's opinions (click the post title to read last year's entry), so why don't you just read what the folks over at Kampala Live have to say. (That's the website I guest-edited a few weeks back.)
I must admit, this entry is a bit of 'filler'. I haven't been in much of a blogging mood lately - mainly because I just don't have a whole lot to say. Don't have much to say now, either. However, I feel it is important to give my Loyal Readers an update on my health: I have moved on from Evil African Illnesses, and on to self-inflicted health issues. I consider this to be a significant improvement! I've burned my finger on the oven, i've walked my right arm and chest-area in the direction of someone who was holding a very full kettle of boiling water, and I've boxing lesson-ed my way into a couple of scabby, bruise-y knuckles. My hand-and-arm modelling career is over for sure, but other than that, every thing will be a-ok.
Oh yes, I'm taking boxing lessons. Three of my friends, all working with Right to Play, had started taking lessons at the ghetto fabulous 'National Boxing Federation' and talked about what a great workout it was and how satisfying it felt, and convinced me to join them. I almost crapped out when I found out that they all share one pair of boxing gloves - like I mean the entire boxing federation shares one pair. So even though it is absolutely revolting to stick your hands inside gloves that are completely soaked with someone else's sweat, it seems a bit inappropriate to complain about it, when the country's national boxing champion thinks it's fine. (Purell Purell Purell)
Alright, also: my parents are coming to uganda this saturday! I've been stressing out about booking all of our activities, since everything needs to be paid for in cash, and ATMs have those dang daily withdrawal limits. (I don't do any of my banking locally; it's complicated.) But as long as that gets resolved, and my parents can make peace with the bumpy roads and often only superficially competent restaurant service and enforced flexibility (Eater:"But! I ordered 'blah blah blah' This isn't 'blah blah blah'" Waiter:"Oh, we call that blah blah blah" "But that's not what it is" "But we call it that" "Fine [sigh/shrug/eyeroll choice]") then I think everything will be okay!
I guess, when i actually sit my fingers down on top of a keyboard, I magically do have things to write about. Who knew?