Dishing On Dancing With the Stars: My Guilty Pleasure Release Valve
I need a reprieve from semi-automatic guns run amuck, the evils of terrorism, and bigoted zealots in the worst way.
I don’t watch a lot of TV, but for some reason, “Dancing with the Stars” (DWTS) has become my favorite release valve: one of my guilty TV watching pleasures.
I’m not into the sparkles or the risqué clothing, I just love seeing what the choreographers will come up with every week, I love to witness non-dancers become dance pros, and I love to watch some of the onscreen drama unfold. Yeah, that last part is a bit trashy, but it’s also true. I love observing how a dancer like Derek Hough works through the creative process of choreographing a dance while suffering from pneumonia and a twisted ankle and still delivers an astounding routine that spotlights his partner’s most endearing qualities. And I love the pure athleticism of it all.
My apologies if you’re not a fan of the show. Feel free to just come back to visit here in a few days when I post about a yummy soup I’m making for dinner tonight. However, season 17 bazillion and 12, or something like that, of DWTS just ended, and I’m finding my Monday evenings are unbearably dull.
I really need to talk.
Can we dish?
When the season began, I typed up my first impressions to see if they would still resonate by the end of the season.
Way back in mid September I thought . . .
– That the opening dance number on the street was wonderful!
– That Bindi Irwin Crocodile Girl is delightful! She’s full of positive energy and is going to make a mighty fine dancer, especially with Derek at her side.
– That Paula Deen sounds like a cat on a hot tin roof, and, despite what she might think, I don’t really care what color her underwear is at any stage of the competition. Please let this N-word using, TMI has-been be voted off quickly. Poor Louis V.!
– That if Gary Busey were ever to find himself lost in thought, he would need one heck of a GPS to find his way back home. Poor Anna T.!
– That the Alek guy who stopped the terrorists on the train in France is not a star. He did a wonderful thing, yes, but that doesn’t make him a “star.” Frankly, however, most of this cast is a complete stretch in terms of labeling them stars. Regardless, instead of bounding around the dance floor like a hulking barbarian as I feared, train guy was light on his feet and pleasant to watch. I hope he continues to do well.
– That Nick, the Backstreet Boy, ain’t no boy. That ship has sailed long ago for him, however, I also think he’s going to be great! He was completely hustling us when he said his dancing was sub par and “fingery” compared to the rest of the band. What does “fingery” dancing even mean? Spell check does not approve.
– That 47-year-old Carrie Ann Inaba hitting on a 15-year-old was completely icky. I also think the 15-year-old “vine star”, whatever that might be, should pack up his dancing shoes and head on home to mom.
– That I’m not enamored with the married couple. They’re fine and all, but nothing special.
– That Tony Dovolani, bless his Albanian heart, has been stuck with a two-left-footed lemon yet again; this time it’s Chaka Kahn. Hopefully they compensate him richly for dumping the ne’er-do-wells on him every season. I’ll bet he would give his left sequined pant leg to be paired with a Melissa Rycroft type just one more time!
– That the wee jockey dancing fellow makes Karina Smirnov, at 5’5″, look like Paul Bunyonovski.
– That Toni Braxton’s sister did not deserve only a “7” from Olive Oyl-armed judge, Julianne Hough. (Did you notice that Julianne’s bent arms were flapping away the entire night?) Anyway, I would have given this heretofore unknown Braxton woman at least an “8”. She was good!
– That Len needs to take a flight back to LA in the USA from the UK ASAP, OMG!
– And that, remarkably, every celebrity remains in possession of all of their appendages this season. Gosh, that’s mean. But it’s also remarkable. But it’s more mean than remarkable. (Don’t worry. I’ll be chastising myself for documenting this honest yet snarky thought much longer than it will bother you.)
Now, Post Season in mid December, I think:
– That I’ve been completely clueless. How in the world did I not know that Maksim Chmerkovskiy and Peta Murgatroyd were dating let alone had just gotten engaged? Should I care? No! Do I care? Hell to the yes! Why do I care? Let me obsess on that thought for a while and I’ll get back to you. I imagine it won’t be a pleasant answer. Anyway, here’s a photo of them after he popped the question the other day.
– That my favorite dancers won! Hooray for Bindi and Derek! Justice triumphs! I adored the positive energy of this dynamic duo more than melting vanilla bean ice cream with warm dulce de leche sauce. PonderMom peeps, in case you don’t know by now, that’s a monumental amount of adoration on my part! Crikey!
And that dancing tribute to her father? Complete and total beauty on the small screen obscured by tear-filled eyes. She is an absolute doll and positivity/human kindness personified. She is Australia’s answer to Snow White complete with little (reptilian) critters tugging at her khaki zookeeper pant legs.
– That Derek loves her like a big brother. So much so, in fact, that he flew all the way to Australia to share her special “zoo world” with her recently.
– That I never ever became enamored with the married couple. As a matter of fact, I can’t even remember their names, lending credence to this point. In order to find a photo of them, I Googled “Married couple on DWTS.” Even now, I’m not curious about their names. Hmm, is that a little odd? Probably. Moving on.
– That Nick Carter is one fabulous dancer! I never was completely drawn in by his personality, though, but nonetheless, well done Nick! His pro partner, Sharna Burgess, is smart as a whip and seems much more mature than her 30 years would suggest. Do you know that she’s from Wagga Wagga Australia? Can’t you see her rolling her eyes every time she has to tell people the name of her hometown? It’s way too “cutsie” for her. Sydney, sure. Wagga Wagga, not so much.
– That if Toni Braxton is arguably a B-list star, her sister, Tamar, is D-list actor, and she plays the part to a tee. I’m sorry she got sick. I am not sorry she had to leave. No love lost between her and Val. No love from me, either, darlin’, sorry. I didn’t appreciate your attitude.
So, whatever am I to do now on Monday nights?
Where will my sappy, happy escapism come from?
Anyone know when next season, number 17 bazillion and 13, begins?
What did you think of the season?
Did I miss pointing out anything spectacular or spectacularly seedy?