Bust a Move!

Recently, the wife and I witnessed G-force rapidly kicking her legs in various 10 to 20 second bursts as she swung in the apparatus otherwise known as Mariano Rivera. (Whenever she’s on the verge of sleep, we drop her in this swing and she’s counting sheep within minutes.) Like most biased parents, we concluded that our daughter’s brilliant dancing career was inevitable - especially considering dance backgrounds of her gene pool.

The wife patented the “Dirty Seagull” move, which she busts out only on special occasions. As a witness to probably every appearance of the D.S., I easily recognize the symptoms. The wife’s eyes suddenly bulge into a crazed stare as her head turns haphazardly in the direction of the chanting crowd surrounding her. With her mouth agape, both arms slowly raise at the sides above her head, and then it happens: the wings flap down as her head and torso fluctuate in wavelike movements. It’s quite entertaining and embarrassing at the same time. Chances are good you’ll see the D.S. flying around if dirty martinis are poured in the bird bath.

As for me, I’ve got a small arsenal of terrible moves. The “shoulder shimmy” is my equivalent of the white man’s overbite. It’s an uncontrollable instinct that spontaneously occurs whenever I hear a good song. It’s quite unimpressive. My “side head bob” is an indication that music is playing, I’m feeling self-conscious about dancing, but I feel the need to do something. So I just bob my head. To the side. I also recently discovered to my horror that my worm is so inflexible and un-smooth that I’ve decided to retire it indefinitely. That’s all I got.

Now, in the tradition of Britney’s parents, Jacko’s dad, and Lindsay Lohan’s mom, the wife and I are exploring the ways in which we may exploit our daughter’s talent and sanity for our own personal gain. This brings us to So You Think You Can Dance.

For those who somehow don’t know about SYTYCD, it’s a dance competition show between 10 men and 10 women. A man and woman are paired up to dance a choreographed routine of varying genres from week to week in an effort to receive enough votes to avoid having to “DANCE FOR YOUR LIFE!” The winner gets $250,000 and the title of “America’s best dancer.” You know the drill. Quite standard, really.

I hate American Idol and Dancing with the Stars so my attachment to SYTYCD mystifies me. Perhaps it's because of the hot ladies. Perhaps it's because I'm trying to watch the dancers' moves for the next time that I go clubbing. Perhaps it's because these kids are just really talented and impressive, which makes for good entertainment. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Not only have I found myself religiously watching SYTYCD with the wife, but I actually attended a live show of last season’s top 10 finalists at Boston University last year with her and three of her lady friends. Let’s just say that the ratio of women to men in the audience was about 100:1. And the ratio of straight men over 30 to the rest of the audience? Probably 1000:1. Did I care? Hell no. Plus the wife and I were secretly hoping that the beats might somehow transmit good dancing skills to G-sizzle while she was in utero. In light of G’s aforementioned kicking frenzy, the live show appears to have created the desired fetal effect.

So as we wait to see if our daughter evolves into a ballerina, breaker, fox trotter, or samba, I recorded a diary of the Wednesday and Thursday shows. Without further ado:

Ba-da-ba-bup! Ba-da-ba-bup! So you think you can dance, dance, dance… Tonight’s show will be hosted by Cat Deeley. She is the coolest reality show hostess in the business – and that’s saying a lot. She also looks fab tonight in her fancy dress.

Our judges include executive producer and occasional mullet wearer Nigel Lythgoe, guest judge Adam Shankman, and the absolute beating known as Mary Murphy. I could probably write an entire post about the ways in which this woman annoys the crap out of me. Let’s just say that she sucks and move on.

Obv, the wife and I watched the preliminary auditions and the subsequent screening of invitees to Las Vegas. My predictions for early weak sauce contestants are Jonathan, Tony, and the unitard girl. My gut tells me that Jason, Phillip, and Melissa are strong to very strong.
First up, we have Jeanine and Phillip with a hip-hop routine by married choreographers Napolean and Tabitha. The wife and I heart Napolean and Tabitha. I’d love for them to witness the “Dirty Seagull” in person and give us feedback. “I loved your energy when symbolizing the gull’s head movements but your wing flaps aren’t quite hitting hard enough.” Anyways, great opening routine. They nailed it.

Asuka and Vitolio are next. Vitolio’s life story is compelling. Asuka is arrogantly attractive. Choreographer is Tyce Diorio. He’s annoying and predictably selects a broadway number. I hate broadway. Not surprisingly, the routine stinks. Yawn.

Karla and Jonathan. Jonathan’s looks will get him votes but he still seems weak. Karla is humbly hot. They do salsa, I think? Anyway, Mary says afterwards that “she likes it rough.” Gross.

Unitard girl and Evan are next. Evan is charming but he has a disproportionately large ass for his body. It’s weird looking. Unitard girl is married so they are worried that their contemporary routine may be too risqué for her husband. Admittedly, they do a really nice job.

Paris and Tony do a futuristic hip-hop routine in shoulder pads and pleather. Tony has probably made it this far only because he’s cute. Paris is impressive because she has recovered from a bad car accident. Irregardless, they look pretty flat.

Caitlin and Jason. Caitlin’s body is re-donk-a-donk. Jason is effeminately cute. They did Bollywood. It was good but nothing like last year’s routine by Katee and Joshua.

Janette and Brandon are next. They do a fox trot. Brandon is seriously ripped but he’s even more effeminate than Jason. He also smiles constantly. I think you could punch him in the head and he’d still smile at you. Janette’s bod is impressive, too, but she makes me think that she has a moustache whenever I look at her. Anyway, they do a pretty good job.

Ashley and Kupono are next. Wade Robson choreographed this contemporary piece. The wife and I heart Wade big time. He’s truly brilliant. As expected, he delivers a gem for Ashley and Kupono. I’d like to swim in Wade’s brain to see how he comes up with this stuff.

Melissa and Ade are up. Melissa is a naughty ballerina – yum! Ade has Barry Sanders’ tease fro and wears a pick. Solid. The only thing I remember from their performance is almost falling off the couch when I heard Richard Marx playing.

Finally, our last couple of the night, Kayla and Max. Max is the token Russian male contestant with a ballroom background and tight, sequined outfits. (I swear there is one every year.) The wife loves Kayla because her grandfather cried when she passed her first audition. They do a samba. Mary declares a “hot tamale train.” A crazed fan suddenly gags and bounds Mary before abducting her from the stage. I celebrate wildly from my couch. And that’s a wrap.

Who will be dancing for their lives tomorrow night? Who is still awake this far into the post? Only time will tell. Who do you think deserved to go home? Should the wife and I enroll G-sizzle into dance classes right now considering her early prowess? C’mon SYTYCD fans. Let me know you’re out there.