Guilty Pleasures.
This by way of confession—I have been told that it is good for the soul. Shirl and I watch “Dancing with the Stars” together on Monday nights. Right, no shame. Students tell me that it is lame and that “So you think you can dance” is so much better. But here is the truth of it. Shirl and I like to ballroom dance: waltz, foxtrot, jive, quick-step, a little (darn little) tango and rumba. These dances have form and elegance (well, I try); they have actual steps that a couple can do together. And if I can waltz, I can waltz with most other partners too. It is social dance; it doesn’t need choreography, just a shared knowledge of the form.
Urban dance is freeform, all individual and very athletic. It really has no social component; much of it is pure aggression. Krump?? I suppose it is just another grumpy old mannerism, but I haven’t got past the silent c in rap music. I am bemused by all these middle-class white kids fancying themselves gangstas. All the rappers must laugh and laugh as they roll about in their gold jewelry.
This summer, out of a sense of duty to those students who praised the show, I did watch some “So you think you can dance” shows. Indeed, some of them could. But for the most part, it really was not very interesting. The mc and the judges were the most fun. I have caught a few minutes of the Canadian version. I have the impression that these kids are better dancers than the Americans of the summer-time show. They certainly are a whole lot more, um, smokin’. Maybe the reason I haven’t watched a whole show is fear. A big jump in blood pressure could cause an aneurism.
But I don’t like DWTS any more. They have done something unpleasant this year. Cloris Leachman just made me cringe; she is a caricature of an elderly woman. I have friends in their 80s who are lively, lovely, elegant women who are beautiful on a dance floor. But Cloris made me cringe. I abhor people who patronize others, and there was a lot of that going on while she was still on the show. It was a relief when she left.
But the patronizing still goes on. There is huge Warren Sapp, shuffling and bobbing, ducking his head and rolling his eyes as if to say,” It’s only me, bit ol’ cuddly Warren.” The studio audience stands and cheers, and the judges praise. Neither they nor the man have a shred of dignity left. Now, I know that it may be dangerous to say such things because Warren Sapp is a mighty mighty man. Still, he is pretty bulky, so I think I can run faster scared than he can mad. The only thing I have to watch for is a hit from the blind side after the play is over. Or maybe I shouldn’t have brought that up??
Anyhow, I don’t much like to watch that show anymore. I sit there mostly to be companionable, and I try (usuccessfully, you can guess) to keep my gums from flapping. Maybe I just need to take Shirl out dancing, formally, elegantly, and with class. No booty shaking, I can promise.