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I have to pick up the youngest gel at her little friend’s house this evening on my way home.

I’ve never been to this particular little friend’s house before.  I had thought that the address was 123 Nth Street and duly mapquested my directions there.  However, I just now discovered that the correct address is, in fact, 123 Nth Road.  Nth Street and Nth Road run parallel to each other a long block apart.

Stupid Arlington, Virginia.

Regular port-swillers may know that Robbo’s First Commandment is “Thou Shalt Not Make A Fool Of Thyself In Public.”  Had I shown up at the wrong house expecting to find the gel there, upon learning of my mistake I no doubt would have been so overcome with hideous embarrassment that I would have had no choice but self-immolation on the spot.

Stupid, stupid Arlington.

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I see that the Times of London have revamped their website.  The new design is wonderful – clean lines, stylish presentation and good organization.  Unfortunately, all the articles now seem to reside behind a subscription firewall.

To quote Zaphod Beeblebrox, “Okay, so ten out of ten for style, but minus several million for good thinking, yeah?”

Actually, I know nothing about the broader economic model of subscription-based online media access, except that no one seems particularly happy about it.  What I do know is that I’m not going to pony up for the privilege.

This article from the NY Times is one of the more ludicrous pieces I’ve read in a while.  It champions the fact that dirt-poor Rwanda has national health insurance available to all of its citizens for a mere $2 annual premium, apparently by way of a tsk tsk to unenlightened, selfish, knuckle-dragging ‘Murika.

At the same time, however, it admits that Rwanda is famished; that the health system there is archaic; that there is severe rationing of said health care; that the country has to rely on outside, charitable organizations and volunteer aid (from? you guessed it!) because the annual premium won’t cover even the bare-boned services offered; that a lot of people can’t even afford the small premium, much less a larger co-pay that is required for anything beyond routine maintenance; and that it requires a repressive central political regime in order to make the system work at all.

What’s not to love?

Still, Dr. Binagwaho [a Health Ministry official] said, Rwanda can offer the United States one lesson about health insurance: “Solidarity — you cannot feel happy as a society if you don’t organize yourself so that people won’t die of poverty.”

Uh, huh.

I would suggest that anyone attempting to play up Rwanda as a role-model for anything is either having us all on or else is a certifiable lunatic.

Is it just me, or is “vuvuzela” really rayther an indecent name for anything one would blow into?

According to Wiki, “[t]he origin of the name vuvuzela is disputed. It may have originated from Zulu for “making a vuvu noise,” directly translated “vuvu-ing” because of the “vuvu” sound it makes, or from township slang related to the word for “shower”.

I’m not really sure that helps.

Got a thorough ducking due to a cloudburst at last evening’s softball game (which was suspended after 1 1/2 innings, to be finished tomorrow night, hopefully).  Not only that, I had left all the sides off the ol’ Wrangler, so she, too, got a ducking.

I was clever enough to put towels on the seats this morning to ward off the damp, but I had forgotten about the carpeting in the back.  When I have company (in this case the youngest gel, who I dropped off at St. Marie of the Blessed Educational Method today because Mrs. R is out of town on a field trip with the other two), I usually hang my jacket from a bungee cord wrapped round the headrest on the front passenger’s seat, and it hangs down in the back low enough that it is able to wick up the wet from the floor.  I didn’t notice this today until I was standing on the Metro platform, wondering why my khakis suddenly felt so cold.

Soggy bottom, indeed.

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