So much to
say about "So You Think You Can Dance" Season Cuatro. I'm not sure
where to begin, so maybe the beginning is best, which I will mark by the phone
call received at 7:40 p.m. last night from my mother-in-law who is also
obsessed with this show—practically the first words out of her mouth were
"Is it on yet? Do I have enough time?" Yes, we have 20 minutes—SO
HURRY. But that's not why she called. She called because the she was trying to
book a flight for Jason's dad and the dial-up Internet was too slow and it was
taking hours for the computer to go from pressing "next" to the
following screen—you don't say? But my in-laws do live in the Literal
Middle of Nowhere, and cable TV lines don't come within a mile radius of their
home, and I know there are other options for quicker Internet access, but
there's also the thing about difficulty accepting change—shall we use the word
Luddite? So after I successfully purchased the plane tickets and received
adoration from my mother-in-law for my technological prowess—which I willingly
accepted because if you don't accept adoration from your in-laws when they give
it to you, then you are a fool—she went straight to the topic of SYTYCD and
provided the following quote of the day—IN A GERMAN ACCENT: "People who
think that 'Dancing With the Stars' is better than 'So You Think You Can Dance'
are just stupid. I know that sounds mean, but they are stupid."
I kind of
have to agree because it is the best show in the world, and it makes me feel
warm and happy and full of joy and life and gives me a reason to live when all
of the other TV shows are over for the season and there is nothing in the
fantasy side of my life to look forward to except for yet another reading of
"Lord of the Rings," but that is best left for winter when the sun
never shines and my need to be a Rohirrim is greatest.
Anyway,
this is a great show, and you don't have to be a dancer to enjoy it. I'm not a
dancer; that never worked out for me, and it's something I wish that my mother
would have forced me to do as a child. (Yes, mom, I will pin this one on you.) Maybe
in my next life, my new mother will. You see, my first experience in a dance
class was at age 14, advanced jazz (advanced really having only anything to do
with your age rather than your skill level). I lasted for maybe 3 months, and now
I regret ever quitting, but sticking a girl in a leotard for the first time at
age 14 is just wrong. I didn't know what to do with myself: do you wear a bra
underneath it—or underwear? I didn't need a bra, really—still don’t—but I
remember looking around at all of the girls with boobs and the girls struggling
for boobs, and the bra straps were totally visible underneath their leotards,
which made me think they were necessary, but at the same time they all looked really
stupid because their leotards looked all textured by the bras beneath—why not just wear the bra on the
outside of the leotard for all that? So instead of concentrating on my jazz
run, I concentrated on what to do about undergarments and I worked myself into
such a state of insecurity that I quit the dance class and never looked
back…until I became an adult and realized that dance is one of the elixirs of
life and it would have been nice to at least possess a little competency on this
subject.
So now I
live vicariously through SYTYCD. And here's my brief episode recap for those
who are still interested: Sex was back…again. He stated his age as 21+, which
is to say pushing 35, and he wore a shiny, sequined ball cap that he probably
stole from his grandmother's bingo night hat collection. And although he says
that over the past year he has worked with "many master choreographers and
teachers in the country," he was still the same old Sex, which means there
was nothing sexy about it. Also back from last year was Gold Inferno, who apparently
has been on a meth diet, which explains why he doesn't want to show his face.
Speaking of
sexy, we met a chest shaver from Italy who admitted his sole purpose
was for people to see him. His dancing was not too good, and Mia caught herself
in a Freudian slip by telling him: "You are not going to be very
sexy—successful."
Most
wildly, there was a fellow who stripped down to his dance shoes and
tighty-whiteys for an awkward display of his nonexistent dance technique. At
one point, they had to edit over his crotch as he did a move on the floor. He
told the judges that he wanted to be a blank canvas for them to mold. Nigel
said there was "nothing I saw there that I wanted to mold." If you
come back next year, dude, keep the clothes on.
For the
show fanatics, we got to see Travis from season 2 with a bigger Mohawk than
before, and from season 3, we caught a glimpse of Hok and Dominic, who is
precious and loves blond women—tall or short.
In terms of
talent, the LA auditions didn't blow me away, except for the poppers. I'm not
sure how they do that shit, but they do, and it's phenomenal. They have also
forced me into wasting two hours of my day trying to move my arm in a robotic
fashion. I haven't had any success yet.
