So it's decided.  Before I die, I'm going to Ghana and taking the canopy hike (the longest canopy trail in the world), visiting elephants, going to a cocoa farm, and escaping near-inevitable snacking by crocodiles.  Because everybody makes random resolutions to visit Africa for no apparent reason.  Oh yes, and we're stopping by Africa's diamond mines, too.  A weekend jaunt in Morocco, couple days in Egypt....  Oh yes.  It's going to be awesome.

I'm also going to start watching the Travel Channel more often (the infamous spawn site of this hairbrained adventure).  *Grins*  "Look!  Killer elephants at dawn!"  Exciting.

Okay, really random, but why, dear God above us, WHY do ballroom dancers wear such horrid, tacky, most of all downright trashy costumes??!  They live on this planet (or so I thought), they know that eight strips of fuschia jersey do not a dress make.  How do they keep from blinding small children?  Do they employ rubber cement to make certain every tawdry strip stays in just the right crucial place??  But -- but -- Whyyyyyyyy?  *Weeps, tears hair*  ....*Gnashes teeth*

Exhibit A (Or, more appropriately, XXX) -- Even Paris Hilton would blush.

It's like a loincloth with too much fabric someone tied to a swimsuit top.

It's times like these which convince me that yes, God really has forsaken us all.

Okay.  I'm done.  Apologies.  I'm off to drown my sorrows and horror in decently-cut attire.