Thursday, August 2, 2007

Dear Producers of "So You Think You Can Dance,"

a letter:

I know what you're thinking: we're a smash-hit television show, watched by millions of wannabe rump-shakers a week. We're younger than Dancing with The Stars and hipper than American Idol. We've got pretty ladies, pretty boys, and pretty judges. Who's this letter-writing guy think he is, telling us we're missing something?

Who am I? Four words: The Ultimate Dancing Machine. I tango like my last name's Iglesias. I don't cha-cha-cha; I cha-cha-cha-cha. I unironically swivel my hips to the Macarena, because swivel-hipping is serious business, and the Macarena is my erotic bookstore. I shimmy and I shake and I never break a sweat. I make voguing look manly. I'm just that good.

But there's more. I got moves you've never dreamed, much less seen. I snap my teeth and I twitch my elbows to the left and to the right. I palm my nipples and then release them from hiding. Palms on, palms off. Like window shutters, open and close, open and close, faster and faster. Peek-a-boo. I gnash my teeth again. I call this dance "The Janet Jackson."

There's more. I make see-through cups with my thumbs and index fingers, sliding them over my eyes, like I'm peering through binoculars. I whip my head from side to side, peering, peering, peering, until I point my "binoculars" up at the sky. I call this one "Are you there God? It's Me, Margaret."

And finally, I do the Hammer. Before you shake your head: I do the Hammer while levitating seven feet off the ground.

Pick a sidewalk and I'll show you. I kick it off with the typical slide-up slide-down conveyor-belt hustling. Go Hammer. Go Hammer. Go. I speed up my sliding, my two legs switching and clicking like mad metronomes. No thinking. Just hammering.

Moments later my feet give way, like a balloon swelling, inching airborne ever so gracefully. I'm floating, and my legs keep sliding.

You can't touch this indeed.

So fine, maybe I'm not classically-trained. Maybe I'm not television-friendly. But let me answer the question you keep asking America:

Yes, I think I can dance.




Anonymous said...

I totally heart you right now.

In the three weeks prior to last week, I was SO upset over Danny's treatment on the show; I actually started an e-mail to Oprah begging for her intervention!!!

It started: "Are you there Oprah? It's me, DESPERATE!!!"

Anonymous said...

OMG, definately rate 10+ out of 10 points.

Are your Hammer pants in a leopard print? You are HOT, Dude!