I admit it. I’m hooked on Dancing with the Stars. I dunno how it happened… a few dances here, a few dances there, and at the beginning of this season I find myself nudging chores and kids’ bedtimes… yaddda, yadda, yadda… so I can watch this ridiculous show. Except it’s not ridiculous. Except it is. Except it isn’t. It is. It isn’t. Is. Isn’t…
I feel conflicted. I am embarrassed. It’s reality T.V.! I am a sharper cookie than “Reality TV”. I am jealous. I wanna do that! Alas, I will never be a star. However, I can name A star after myself… Maybe “they” need to come out with a show called “Dancing with the Moms” or maybe “Mutha, You Don’t Even Know How To Dance”, or something… people would watch, right?
So, tonight (and last night) all the remaining dancers did this group-thing… reminiscent of Grease - the Greasers vs. the Preppies. There were elements of the Swing, the Lindy, the Charleston… fun stuff. Fun. Fun. F.U.N. Paul and I took East Cpast Swing and Lindy Hop lessons for almost 2 years, and we had progressed to many of the moves I saw tonight (except for the lifts… yeah… not that part). I don’t remember much now - it’s been 8 years a lifetime since then.
*sigh*
Speaking of lifts, I remember I tried to do a lifty-flippy sort-a move during my “2-steppin’-line-dancin’” college days. I landed on my head. OK, my partner dropped me on my head. OK, under a cloud of poor judgement, I let this fella try to flip me before I knew how to work through it and before I knew he knew how to work through it. AND… I was a freshman. Not many “light bulb moments’ happenin’ that year.
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