So, you are all about to lose any remaining respect for me you may have.  You know how much I hate American Idol?  I think we’ve been over that, right?  So why, why would I get hooked on American Idol‘s even tackier cousin, So You Think You Can Dance?  Why would such a miserable, pedestrian fate await the me? ME? Me, snobbiest snob that ever snobbed?

Here’s what I think happened:  most of the reason I hate American Idol with such a burning fire of HAAAATE is that I actually care about music.  I like songwriting, and lyricism, and musicianship–none of which are factor on that despicable excuse for a show.  I also loathe Simon Pants-Up-To-His-Armpits Cowell, Paula Nice-Crazy-Drunk-Lady Abdul, and Randy Dog-Pound Whatshisname.  They all can kiss my ass.  Frankly.

In the case of the miserable dance show, however, I have not an ounce of dance snobbery in my system.  How could I?  I know nothing about it.  All I know is that I love the audition phase, where I can see oodles and oodles of breakdancers doing positively insane moves, and straight dudes who are not afraid to get their ballroom on.  (Seriously.  Hello, straight dudes out there:  A little grace wouldn’t hurt your cause in the bedroom, is all I’m sayin’.)

But the breakdancing.  OH SWEET FANCY MOSES, THE BREAKDANCING. That shit is just insane.  Lo, it takes me back to the days of elementary school, everybody trying to pull off a nasty backspin on the gymnasium floor while some skinny white kid beat-boxed in the background.  It was the eighties; we didn’t know what the hell was going on.  We just wanted to be cool.  And then, in middle school, kids were wearing their baggy pants backwards and knocking out what seemed like the baddest moves on the track after lunch while everybody stood around in a circle, clapping.

I have never had any kind of moves. Never.  Like most girls I knew, I took several years of ballet and gymnastics, but my greatest achievements were a one-spin pirouette and a shaky front handspring off the vault.  Sad.

And that’s exactly why I get my panties all in a mess over these kids on TV–they have what I always thought was it, but could never, ever, in a million years achieve.  They have the moves.  MOOOOOOVES. Damn.

Except, currently, they are moving into the partnered dancing phase, where the top ten girls and top ten guys are partnered in such a way that neither partner excels in the same style of dance as the other, and they’re made to do routines foreign to both of them.  That’s the problem:  I mean, I ain’t wanna watch Musa (whose name I totally thought was Moussa until I found out it wasn’t), the only breaker who made it to the finals, trying to do the mambo.  I just don’t.  I want to see him do his crazy-ass, insane-ass, awesome breakdancing that consistently has my jaw hitting the floor.  And here comes the but:  I think if the couples get in the bottom three for votes, they have to do what’s called “dance for their lives,”  meaning a solo dance in the style of their choice.  So, I probably shouldn’t call in tonight and vote for Musa. If he gets enough votes, he won’t have to “dance for his life,” and who knows when I will get to see him break again?  An ethical problem.  I mean, seriously, the dude is BADASS.

Anyway, I’m sorry if I have disappointed anyone by falling victim to the Fox formula reality show.  Next thing you know I’ll be telling you I am hooked on that complete cunt Gordon Ramsay’s show, Hell’s Kitchen.

And now I have to get back to the dancing.  Maybe I can manage yet to rock a headspin on my tiny kitchen floor.