Monica: That was my bathing suit in 9th grade.
Chandler: I was wrong, THAT'S what they use to cover Connecticut when it rains.

Ugh.

I only wish I had the vodka. Well, I guess if I’m wishing for things I wish I didn’t have the mumu. Such is life.

I have the mumu.

So, logic dictates I need the vodka. Perhaps in a flask attached to my hip, which I could actually get away with under my costume since it is, indeed, a mumu. A striped and, albeit, belted, mumu. But a mumu all the same. I could fit a whole bottle of Godiva Chocolate Bailey’s under there and have a whole hour between my two vastly-abbreviated appearances on stage to down it in a series of shots with butterscotch chasers.

But let’s back up.

Two years ago, I did a musical called Man of La Mancha. It’s basically about a delusional man and his servant who are thrown in prison and recreate the adventures of the legendary Don Quixote in order to entertain the other prisoners. Various prisoners become characters in his story, which is played out ad nauseum to any poor audience patient enough to sit through it.

My role? Don Quixote’s sharp and cunning (read: manipulative bitch) niece Antonia. The costumer (who shall for the time being remain anonymous, lucky her) decided Antonia would best be suited wearing a voluminous costume made out of what amounted to heavy damask tapestries. Drapes. Fine. I guess it was a period in history where people had no choice but to make their parlor curtains and clothing out of the same material (and I mean let’s face it, so did Scarlett O’Hara, and she's pretty great). It’s the character, no problem. For Christ’s sake, I wore what amounted to a lemon merengue pie in Seussical. Plus the curtains were plum and I look good in plum. Not that wearing inch-thick material did a lot for my ass, but still. Plum. I can work with that.

Then I found out I would be putting on the three-piece curtain ensemble (plus a veil) onstage as I transformed from prisoner to Antonia is roughly 45 seconds. This is when I started to panic. Mind you, I found this out roughly, oh, 3 days before we opened. During a final fitting for the drapes onstage at eleven o’clock on the Tuesday night before we opened, I curtly expressed my concern about changing from one costume to the other, especially since the drapes were rather cumbersome and hard to maneuver.

What I found out (much) later was that my concern about the quick change was taken, by the overly-defensive and costumer and her costumer assistant, as a direct attack on the costume itself (i.e. I hated it, I wouldn’t wear it). Basically a lot of things that never came out of my mouth. End result? I’m a diva who won’t cooperate.

Fast forward two years to last night. Lose the drapes, add a mumu.

Well, not quite yet.

Okay, just fast forward two years when costumer assistant is now director of theissame theatre’s mounting of Thoroughly Modern Millie. I am cut out of contention for the lead ( a singing tap-dancer, HELLO?!?) due to the former-costumer-assistant-now-director’s inaccurate grudge against me for what happened during La Mancha.

You just can’t make this shit up.

Instead, I’m pitied and begrudgingly handed-- no sorry, offered another “principal” role which amounted to not much more than a cameo with precisely 12.5 minutes of stage time. (Miss Flannery the office manager, in case you know the show and/or care)

I won’t go into all the machinations of rehearsals and the unavoidable community theatre hiney-biting, but instead will declare I’ve been the typical model cast member-- singing other character’s songs for promotional events, overlooking it when the director forgets I’m there, watching the leads phone it in. You know, the usual.

And I should mention that throughout the weeks of rehearsal, the costumer (yes, the same one from La Mancha) and her minions came in every week to try costumes on people. Well, all people except for one.

Me.

Not that I wasn’t busy. I had things to do. Eight whole lines to learn, one dance to practice, plus the time it took to perfect my 3-word solo.

I kept getting reasons like “I have to make the stenographer’s costumes first” and “I haven’t chosen the material” and “There’s 103 costumes in this show, and I’ll get to it”. What’s really sad is, I sat there with the proverbial thumb up the proverbial ass and believed her.

Now we’re up to last night: costume parade. It’s already a clusterf*ck of a night anyway, especially with a show of this magnitude. Flapper dresses are flying around, people don’t like the way they look in baby-poop green, the usual stuff. I, however, am basking in my role for the first time: two scenes and one dress a la snooty 1920s office manager.

Wrong.

Make that fanatical singing and dancing villager following that Joseph guy around while he wears his magical coat of many colors.

That’s right.

Enter The Mumu.

Yes, it’s a mumu. A mumu of many colors, ironically enough. A brightly-colored sheet sewn into the general shape of a potato sack dress for a woman nearly twice my size, accentuated with a lovely maroon cloth belt that would have looked lovely on Peter, Paul, or even Judas. And he’d have had plenty of room in there to store his 30 gold pieces or whatever the hell it was.

I had just seen the stenographer’s dresses. Cute little numbers in turquoise and yellow, with sweetheart collars, dropped waists, and flawless pleats.

And then there’s me. In my mumu. My own little private seventh circle of hell, and people are going to pay $18 a pop to see it.

But I take a deep breath and begin the walk of shame from the dressing room to the stage where I will stand on stage and be scrutinized by the director, the Anti-Christ (fine, costumer), and anyone else who happened to be out there and ready for a good laugh.

And I’m not kidding on this one. Every single cast member who passed by me did two things: (1) laughed sympathetically and (2) asked me why I decided to do Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, or perhaps Godspell, instead.

Oh. GOD.

More than one person also told me there was no way in any circle of hell the director would let me appear onstage in the mumu of many colors.

Funny thing though; once the stenogs and I were lined up onstage, all I was told was that my mumu was simply a little “unfinished” and would be “touched up” by next week.

Touched up, my ass.

Doused with gasoline and burnt into biblical clothing compost perhaps.

In a later and more candid discussion with the director, I was told various things such as “You’re not onstage that long” and “Other things are taking priority”, and “It’s hard to find something for you”. Oh, and “This is exactly what we talked about before”- I guess meaning this is why we didn’t give you the lead.

To which my answers were “If I’m not that vital, maybe you don't need me” and “Like what, all other 102 costumes?” and “I might be a curvy size 14 with big boobs, but I’m not a pregnant sea lion”. Oh, and “We never talked about a mumu before”.

But those didn’t go over very well, and I’m not sure what will happen. What I am sure of is that I will not wear the mumu onstage, touched up or not.

Stay tuned for more mumu updates.

Adn bring me some damn vodka.

Yeah.

Not that I stayed out all night doing Jello shots and dancing to The Devinyls or anything. It’s more that I try to CRAM as much as I can into two days. Then I go back to work and feel like I didn’t really get a break. My ex father-in-law, the pussy-whipped ever-cheerful workaholic, used to say a vacation or day off simply meant a break from the normal routine. As in if your normal routine was hammering up drywall, a vacation could consist of manually masturbating hamsters and ferrets for genetic research. Annoying. I always wanted to whack him in the face with a large cucumber.

ANYhoo…Thursday night was dinner at the Melting Pot with my folks, where I found my new favorite concoction- the Gummi Bear. ::salivates::

Friday night I taught tap. Awesome, actually. My “girls” know the entire 42nd Street audition routine and we still have a month to polish other steps before TMM rolls around. Not to mention it’s kicking my ass into shape. Came home, read, watched T.V., fell into blissful, comatose state interrupted frequently by my dachsie Sadie’s strategically-placed cold nose.

Slept late in Saturday with a migraine (late = 9:00). Cleaned for 3 and half hours. And not wussy-pussy cleaning like dusting the coffee table. We’re talking rug shampooing and vacuuming baseboards and ceiling fans here, people. I think my inner Monica actually got off a couple times somewhere in there. Then Andy and I dropped by to help my bro and his wife with their move in. After which we stopped by the new Irish pub in Frisco for a drink and received the worst service EVER from annoying twigs in schoolgirl uniforms. ::gunshot:: THEN it was off the our first West Coast Swing dance class (FABulous); home to change and off to a party for an ex co-worker. ::sigh:: No. Not done. Add on the late showing of ‘27 Dresses’ (James Marsden is pure hotness) and finally to good ol’ TGIF for a drink and naughty snack that I might as well have glued directly to my right thigh.

Now it’s 1:53 in the morning. I’ve taken my Melatonin and am sitting here with the Muppet (my wire haired dachshund that looks like, well, a Muppet…or a dog a Muppet might have) in my lap watching Andy play a video game where some guy seems to run endlessly across a field looking for swords or crystals or some shit.

Tomorrow I will spend half the day getting ready for Monday and the other day depressed and pissed off that the weekend’s almost over. Score.

But hey… at least I can do a double wing time step. So take that. Nyah!

(Yes, I’m a bit punchy. I think it’s the Melatonin. Or the Gummi Bear)

‘Night!

Between a blossoming relationship, a great career, TOO MUCH working out (I'm getting obsessed), 5 dogs in the house, New Year's resolutions, drama in the theatre (surprise surprise)...well okay, none of that necessarily qualifies for full blog re-entry, but WHATever.

I'm here. And it's nice. And now...Christmas.

A few shots of me trying to be artistic with my parents' holiday decorations.

12:19 a.m., 21 July 2007

"We now present the seventh and final installment in the epic tale of Harry Potter."
- J.K. Rowling

The party is over. The final reading has begun. Oh, how I shall miss Mr. Potter.

I know, I should be more modest. I should also catch ya`ll up on everything that`s going on, but for the time being HNT is all I have the energy for. So enjoy another luscious poolside shot - String Thing 2007. I hope you like it as much as I looooove my pool right now. Ahhhh. . .

Ciao!

- Babs

Oilin` up and layin` out. Yep, it`s that time of year. And boy, do I get brown. This time, I waxed a bit artistic and this is what came out. Mmm, it`s hot out.

Enjoy!

Ciao.

May I lodge a complaint? I am in the process of updating my audition schedule for the coming year. You see, many theatres in the DFW Metroplex just announced or will shortly announce their seasons. I`m lining up auditions starting from the end of my run in Into the Woods through this time next year, folks. And here`s my complaint:

What`s with all the weirdo, f*cked-up, nobody-has-ever-heard-of-them, artsy-fartsy shows?

I mean, come on.

Okay, I understand theatres get tired of doing Oklahoma, Little Shop, Cabaret, and Into the Woods. And god knows every theatre wants to boast things like `Regional Premiere` or `Texas Premiere`, crap like that. Plus, it seems that shows go through phases and spread like viruses, which is something to be avoided IMHO. One theatre does it, five others follow. Recent examples? Forum. Urinetown. Ragtime. And those are all terrific shows.

But when you have Top Notch Equity House X putting on and then one month later Pee-Diddly Community Theatre X puts on the same show, you`re setting yourself up for humiliation in a lot of cases. I know I sound harsh, but it`s those same people who get pissed off when they can`t fill a house (Here`s another tip: quit playing favorites and cast the talented people). But if I see The Shadow Box or Move Over Mrs. Markham or that damn `Man in the Moon Marigolds` whatever-it-is in a season list one more time, I`m going to set myself on fire. On fire, I tell you! (and same goes for Nunsense, but that`s just me)

Right now is a tough time for a lot of community theatres in the Metroplex. If an organization like PRT can be toppled, we should still all be afraid, very afraid. And it`s not a time for whacko, new-age crap that you need production notes to follow. You gotta spend money to make money, and it`s time to pull out the big guns, people!

And no, I`m talking about the tired old standards (Carousel, ahem, Hello Dolly). As much as it pains me to say, go for Lloyd-Webber. Go for Disney (Beauty and the Beast is making the rounds, follow the leader if you must). Go for Kander & Ebb (yes, I know Chicago is expensive). Hell, go for true music genius and do Gershwin or Coleman or Porter.

Get a couple of those in, balance out the season schedule between the random and the shows-people-actually-want-to-see. And for god`s sake, can I just ask what`s wrong with tap-dancing? Anyway, do that, and then talk to me about adding your Man In The Moon Marigolds.

Thank you. The End.

::steps down::

So. . .if you`ve managed to get down here after staring at my tanned shoulder ;-), here are a few artistic (very loose term) shots I took.

(an aside: So, today I found out something that made me question my self-proclaimed status of Pop Culture Expert. Jennifer Grey, of Dirty Dancing fame, is the daughter of legendary Broadway veteran Joel Grey. Huh. ::ducks head sheepishly::)

Okay, can I tell you how much I`m going to love working with a professional theatre company? Oh. My. God. I get a call this morning from a member of the student and professional cast, a guy (well, a kid) named Alex.

`Hello, Miss Huffman? This is Alex with OhLook. I am calling to schedule your one-on-one libretto coaching for this week.`

Um, what? One-on-one `libretto coaching`? I must have sat there in stunned silence for too long, so he went on to explain:

`The student cast members are rehearsing every night this week, but because you`ve done the show before and are part of the professional company we want to take up as little of your time as necessary until staging rehearsals start next week.`

Actual respect for my time and experience? Really?

It`s the Community Theatre Twilight Zone, folks!

Well, I managed to get over the shock and find my voice again; I told Alex that Wednesday and Thursday for an hour each night should be sufficient for what I am assuming is a fancy name for music rehearsals. But he wasn`t quite done.

`Also, Miss Huffman, we need to know when you would like to receive your paycheck and if you would like your costume pieces laundered.`

Costume pieces? Laundered? As in someone else washing my sweaty bloomers?

Well, Alex also explained I will get fitted for my costume at the first of my two private `libretto coachings`. Apparently, they are renting the costumes from various equity house productions, along with the sets (go into Google Images sometime and check out some of the amazing sets that have been done for this show).

After securing my jaw back onto my face, I told Alex I do not mind getting paid once I have fulfilled my obligation of 5 weeks` rehearsal and a 3-week run. And hell yes, I want my costumes pieces laundered. He laughed and told me he looked forward to meeting me (he is playing Jack, my `son`, in both the student and professional casts).

I don`t want to speak too soon, but I think I could get used to this.

(another aside: it is raining like ASS outside, and I have (a) a white blouse on, and (2) no umbrella. Impromptu wet t-shirt contest in the parking lot!)

Well, tomorrow I officially start music rehearsals for my turn as Jack`s Mother in Into the Woods in Grapevine. Yep, I decided to take the professional gig in the show I love in a new theatre full of new people and leave behind a lead role among friends. Looking back on it, I wonder why I even toiled over this one; and I realize now it was more integrity vs. ego than anything else. And I`m pretty damn sure I made the right decision. I actually cannot wait; it`s so exciting to be doing this show again, and with a professional company in a gorgeous venue. Not to mention getting paid for it. Paid. Like money. Paid. For acting. ::happy dance:: I haven`t quite decided what to do with my last night of freedom for a while, but I`m hoping it will involve cooking dinner, baking cookies, and watching T.V. It would have also involved a spot of swimming, but that was before the sky crapped buckets of rain for like the 137th day in a row. But still. . .sounds nice, eh?

Today, however, I am rather like a zombie. Yes, very zombie-esque indeed. I basically had zero weekend (more on that later, but let`s just say it involved the one kind of singing I do NOT like to do). I was actually thankful to come into work this morning, albeit on 4 hours sleep (would have been more, but the libido wouldn`t stand for it). Now the relief of being at work has rather worn off, and I`m about to chew my hand off because I still have another hour to SIT HERE AND DO NOTHING. Have I ever mentioned I like to be busy? Yeah, thought so.

Meanwhile, the GTF and I are about to start making some big decisions. The first and not least of which is if, when, and where to get married. I know, I just vacu-sucked all the romance out of that, didn`t I? But really, it affects everything else we`re talking about. Are we going to stay in this house? Are we going to stay in Dallas? Are we even going to stay in Texas? Colorado and New York have both come up, as has New England. Where do we want to have kids? Wherein lies the best opportunity for our jobs to be simply a means to an end in order focus on other things we want to try (theatre, writing, singing, traveling. . .)? One thing`s for damn sure- we both desperately need a change of pace. For him it had to do with his job, for me it`s more about living somewhere outside of Texas and in general spreading my wings.

No, nothing`s for sure yet. It`s all preliminary planning at this point, but the anticipation is starting to build. We just have to do. . .something. And as comrades such as The Catpants can attest, it`s all rather exciting, isn`t it?

Until then, though. . . .WOO HOO!

Day break soak in the tub. Now if only I could get him to join me. . .?

Rachel: Phoebe you can`t have both of them! You have to pick one!
Joey: Pick me!!
Ross: No! Pick me! I don`t want to end up an old maid!
Phoebe: All right well let`s see, Ross is a good father, but Joey has a boat. This is hard!

Well, the audition is over for Joseph. I went last night and DID hit the belted high E, though I was tentative throughout the song (having never auditioned with it before) and probably did not come across as charismatic as I would have liked. My other song, I Don`t Know How to Love Him from JCS, went well thought the pianist played it way too fast. I felt jittery and uneasy (most likely because I was late and I HATE being late), yet at the same time not really caring how I did. And it doesn`t help that whenever you announce you`re going to sing something from Wicked, everyone snaps to attention. It`s rather annoying. No pressure. Geez.

Anyhoo, The Arch Nemesis was there, as were so many, many Denton pals; as in half the casts of both Sweet Charity and La Mancha. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy when I walked in and literally 15 people ran up to say hi and hug me. And you what that did? It made me want to do another show there. ::snarl:: But I must keep my head on straight.

Why?

Well you see, ON THE WAY TO DENTON (I told you!), I received an email from the director in Grapevine. ::bangs head on desk:: Yeah. I have been offered the supporting lead role of Jack`s Mother in ITW. Sure, I`m a little disappointed but also am taking into account the director`s very obvious explanation of the nepotism involved (shocker). I also got a veiled `Pay your dues and reap the reward` kind of message from her email. Regardless, it`s still a great role; a show-stealer comic role if it`s played right and not bad considering I had one 10-minute singing audition.

But now I`m in a weird place. I have an offer for a smaller role; it`s a paid `professional` gig, new (and higher-level-of-talent) theatre, new people, one of my favorite shows. Then I have, at this point, just the possibility of a massive lead (unpaid) role in a familiar and comfortable place with people I know (both good and bad) with a director I`ve had to earn my reputation with show by show. The other issue is, if I make callbacks, they will be on Saturday, when I most likely be in Mason for my uncle`s funeral. And I haven`t decided whether to just take that as a sign, or to fight for it. . .meaning talk with the director and see what could be done. Bottom line?

I DON`T KNOW WHAT THE HELL TO DO!!!

I`ve gotten great advice from the GTF, family, theatre pals whose opinions I value and trust. But I still don`t know. I just don`t. I do know that if the director decides to dual-cast the Narrator role, and I am cast along with a certain other person (The Arch Nemesis) then there`s my answer. I don`t have the time, patience, or energy for all that diva sh*t. I think I would end up, at Catpants has said before, setting the girl on fire. But otherwise? I feel like, if cast, I` d be passing up a great opportunity and (unjustly) pissing off a director whose feelings are easily hurt and would not understand me turning him down for a PAID GIG.

But what I really don`t want to happen is to be sitting in rehearsal for one show, wondering the whole time what the other one would`ve been like. Here comes the Regret Monster! And as much as I obsess about it, I can`t seem to create the proper hypotheticals in my brain so as to gauge such a reaction in either case. Wow, that was a nerdy-sounding sentence.

Anyway, I am very indecisive. I`m even indecisive about whether to go to the second night of auditions tonight or not. The director`s wife is having a baby and he won`t be there; but the producer, music director, and choreographer will be. Plus some people from last night, plus more friends and quite possibly The Arch Nemesis. Is showing my face there tonight going to be worth my time? Will it improve my chances? Do I even want to improve my chances? Will it make up for the fact that I can`t be there Saturday, or will it make it worse? Do you people even give a sh*t? :-)

What my body wants to do is go home, make spaghetti, watch So You Think You Can Dance, and have sex. You would think that would clear it up, wouldn`t you?

WRONG.

Joey: I can`t stay too long, I gotta get up early for an audition tomorrow and I gotta look good. I`m supposed to be playing a 19-year-old.
Chandler: So when you said, `Get up early,` did you mean 1986?
Joey: You guys don`t think I look 19?
Phoebe: Oh, 19! We thought you said 90!

Well, T-minus four hours until the `Joseph` audition tonight. I STILL have not heard about ITW from Grapevine, and it`s rather starting to royally piss me off. If I did not make the show (which if I did not I`m going to be a bit annoyed at this point), strap on the balls or hitch up your boobies and tell me. Keeping me waiting is not going to make me suddenly say `Oops, forgot I even auditioned for that!`

So, in that spirit, I am trying out for another show. If I get a call from ITW after tonight (assuming I get cast tonight), I will have a choice to make, I guess. Good thing is, because I`m so focused on ITW I haven`t given even half a rat`s ass worth of thought about tonight. . .well, until about 30 minutes ago when I found out I need to be able to pop out a high-belt E.

Awesome.

So I spent my lunch hour singing Defying Gravity and The Wizard & I along with Miss Menzel. And good news, I have my high E today. Some days, it likes to hide in its little cave and not come out. Dirty b*tch. But it is definitely out today! Most likely because I haven`t been over-singing a lot lately; just some general maintenance. Still, whether or not I get cast tonight? Not worrying so much. Mostly because, due to recent experience, I have learned expecting anything under these circumstances at all is just plain stupid, and I will most likely be fed bullsh*t till the moon turns blue. BUT. That`s no excuse not to cover my ass and go. After all, I am going through serious doing-a-show withdrawal; auditioning at least takes the edge off a bit. Plus, it`ll be fun to see everyone, and I`ve worked with the director, the choreographer, and the music director.

So, many good thoughts about breaking many legs!

Ciao!

Ross: Hey, I know what’ll get us up on a platform!
Monica: What?
Ross: The routine!
Monica: Ross, we haven’t done the routine since middle school.
Ross: Hey, when the snippy guy sees the routine, he’ll wanna build us our own platform!
Monica: Was it really that good?
Ross: We got honourable mention in the brother/sister dance category! Look, it’s almost fake midnight, do we really have any other choice?
Monica: Okay, let’s do it. Mom and Dad are gonna be so faced!

So I trudged into the office kitchen this morning and put my $1.25 (RIP OFF!!!) in the machine for my morning caffeine kick. And instead of getting one 20-oz. Diet Coke, I got two! It`s gonna be THAT kind of day, is it? Hmmm. . .

Well, Grey`s Anatomy is on hiatus (is it wrong to say I`m relieved? That show wears me out and I can`t stand Izzie), Studio 60 got cancelled (::weeps::) and every other show I load onto my Replay T.V. is done until August or September. What does that leave?

So You Think You Can Dance!

If I am completely honest, SYTYCD is my favorite reality talent show over American Idol. I`m willing to admit that I think AI has run its course; it`s produced several mediocre celebrities and only a couple of true standout talents, and now the show`s become not much more than a ratings juggernaut freak show. The producers waste more time focusing on bickering judges, gay-ass hosts, and borderline-psychotic talentless contestants. SYTYCD has city-wide cattle calls (with the people who make through to the second round getting handed a ticket to Vegas) and a few weirdos too (who can forget The Sex). But for the most part, they spent their initial episodes focusing on the wide range of ridiculously-talented dancers they find and all the different styles of dance there are out there. It`s fascinating to me.

SYTYCD is also produced by AI Executive Producer Nygel Lithgow, and Nygel himself serves as a judge. He can be a pompous, British ass like Simon, but I like him. I can`t help but think that AI may be his moneymaker, but SYTYCD speaks to his true passion, as he used to be a professional dancer. Ballroom champion Mary Murphy (kind of a scary cross between Paula Abdul and Fran Drescher) also judges, and the third seat rotates between people like hip-hop choreographer Shane Sparks (I`ve learned his choreography in dance classes) and lyrical genius Miah Michaels. Point being, there`s always a group of people who all actually know what they`re talking about, give useful critiques, and cover a wide range of dance styles.

I think another reason I am in love with SYTYCD is that I am able to take a step back from this show and enjoy the pure entertainment factor of it. I mean, I know enough to notice when one dancer is better than another. But I am a trained singer first, and that makes it hard to just sit back and enjoy AI. I am overly critical, there`s hardly anyone or anything that impresses me. And I`m mostly annoyed the whole time by the judges` opinions, song choices, and how stupid the American public is.

And okay, yeah, I also consider myself a dancer. I`ve taken ballet and jazz and modern, I rock at tap, and I can learn just about any combination taught at an audition or rehearsal. But after watching this show, I realize I am so far from anything any of these people can do. Especially things like Latin ballroom or crumping. They way these dancers use their bodies is inspiring and intimidating at the same time, and I know in my lifetime I will not have a need to dance like these people do. But putting all that aside, watching this form of art gets me pumped up and excited about what I do.

I know I sound like a mondo-cheesy loser to a lot of you right now, but I. love. this. show. It`s in the third season, and this is my second year to be hooked. Ballroom champion Benji Schwimmer won last year (half a million dollars and a Vegas contract), and he was my favorite the whole season. This year it`s really up for grabs, as there are 9 boys and 9 girls (2 got voted off already last week) who are beyond talented.

The way the show works is there are an equal number of boys and girls. They are paired up, and for the first 5 weeks of competition, the couples learn and perform a new dance combination together every week. Ballroom dancers are paired with break-dancers. Lyrical dancers are put together with hip-hop dancers. So it`s pretty much guaranteed that each week, at least one half of each pair will be severely challenged by the combination. And there`s everything from lyrical to hip hop to waltzing to tangoing to crumping, pop-and-locking, even show pop (musical theatre choreography), on and on and on.

The show`s focused on much more than just shining in your specialty. It`s about being able to learn new styles, working with a partner, displaying showmanship, and of course, the X Factor. Except on this show, the X Factor is both how each dancer appeals to the American public and also having chemistry as a `couple` and making that come across in the dancing. And wow, is it obvious when it`s not there.

Anyway, for the first five weeks, the pairs perform on Wednesday. Then American votes, and we are left with the bottom three couples on results night (during which there is a large group number). These six dancers must then `dance for their lives`, which involves doing a free-style dance of their choice for 30 seconds. Then the judges decide which boy and which girl from the bottom three couples will go home. Since it`s not necessarily a boy and girl that have been dancing together, contestants often find themselves with new partners when theirs get sent home. Ouch. The vote isn`t left totally up to America until they are down to 10 dancers. Then it`s every dancer for themselves.

I like that I am able to notice things that these professional dancers notice, when certain steps are missed or when the pair aren`t together. I can appreciate the complexity of the kind of steps they`re doing. But there`s no way I could watch a couple do the jive and tell if the boy isn`t “rocking into his front-steps” or if a crumper isn`t popping their wrists correctly. AND I LOVE IT.

Anyhoo, I am going to start doing mini-reviews each week, if for no other reason than I love this show and I need the writing practice. But I encourage all you creative, performing types (or those of you who like seeing guys in tight pants or girls in low-cut sequin leotards) to tune in on Wednesday nights. So you think you can dance!!