Every Wednesday night during the summer, I like to sit in my La-Z-Grrl, watch TV, and cry. Wednesday is So You Think You Can Dance night. While NYC Prep might be a guilty pleasure, SYTYCD is nothing but pure joy.
For the uninitiated it’s an American Idolesque show with dancing, and it is amazing. I’ve never seen an entire episode of American Idol, and kind of poo-pooed the whole thing. Generally, the contestants on Idol don’t jive with my musical sensibilities. When I heard there was going to be a dancing show based around the same concept, I promptly forgot that information and went upon my merry way.
That was until a few summers ago when my friend Al, the cutest girl on Earth™, started raving about this dance show that she loved, loved, loved more than she loved Project Runway. I took such a proclamation seriously. Because really? Project Runway, a show Al turned me on to, was the best thing ever.
So You Think You Can Dance might be the second best thing ever. I watch the show every week and weep.
I’m not exactly sure why I weep. I don’t know anything about the art of dance. I know less than nothing about it, really. But my body does, somehow. I can tell when a couple is doing well because the hair on my arms stands up and I get goosebumps. When they’re doing really, really well, I spontaneously burst into tears. Without fail, the dances that make me cry are the very same ones the judges seem to love the most.
It is a physical reaction to art I cannot explain. I can, however, enjoy the hell out of it. And I do.
Last night, this dance left me a sobbing pile of goo: