Monday, January 23, 2006
You Should Be Dancing... with the stars, that is
Aaaaaaah...to be Gene Kelly.
"You Should Be Dancing" (by the Bee Gee's) from Saturday Night Fever, was blaring on my radio this morning...and I couldn't help but think about all the great dance scenes in movie history. Watching John Travolta glide across that disco dance floor was nothing short of brilliant.
Oh, to be a great dancer *sigh*...to float effortlessly across a dance floor with no inhibition. Gene Kelly, Ann Miller, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, to name a few of the greats, were born with dancing shoes on.
I, on the other hand, was born just plain bare-footed. Not only was I not born with dancing shoes on, I couldn't even pay someone to custom make me a pair.
My caliber of dance moves are that of Billy Crystal's description in "our" favorite movie "When Harry Met Sally"...I dance doing the "white man's overbite". And I'm not even a man.
If you watch a small child dance...they have yet to discover their inhibition. As a little girl, my mom sent me for the obligatory dance lessons...ballet and tap. I remember loving these classes...as I was yet unaware of my two left feet.
My first recital included two "numbers". The tap production was to that swingin' Disney tune "Whistle While You Work", first made famous by seven little white men, all, no doubt, with probable overbites. (notice me above, white gloves and professional tap shoes)
The second "number" was a ballet set to an Indian theme, costumes and all. At the risk of being accused of political incorrectness...those were the days before we knew the correct terminology, "Native American". Nevertheless, I had a cute little feather in my hair, and all seemed right with the world.
Judging by the response to "Dancing with the Stars", now in it's second season...I'm not the only one who feels this way about dance. I'm sure the popularity of this show has to do with the vicarious thrill of watching people who might not otherwise have such an opportunity (just like you and me...well maybe not you, but certainly me).
But part of the problem with any of these "talent" reality shows is that those of us at home become seemingly delusional.
Now, I can sit in the comfort of my home, watching and enjoying the young talent persevering toward fame, and that's where it ends for me.
My husband, on the other hand, who has been forcibally made to watch American Idol since season 2... now thinks he actually has a chance of becoming the next American Idol.
Since the new season started up...he walks around the house in a daze, repeating over and over: You know...I could be the next American Idol...no, wait...I am the next American Idol. His eyes have been glossed over and foam has been gently pouring from his mouth for the better part of a week.
"If only they would raise the age limit a few meesly years from 28 to 55...I just know I have the "it" factor that all of America is waiting for".
You see what I mean? All this reality stuff has a 54 year old guy, who has never sung a note a day in his life...actually believing that he too, could live the dream. After all, it worked for William Hung, right?
I guess, in a way, it's the age old story of beauty versus beast. We all love to watch the beauty glide across the movie or t.v. screen. But at the same time, we root for the beast, the underdog, the everyday Joe, that represents you or me.
We watch and we fantasize...maybe I could be Gene Kelly, or John Travolta. Maybe I could be Kelly Clarkson or Fantasia.
But probably not. I'm still that little girl with the two left feet. And my poor husband?...well, I'll just keep wiping the foam from his mouth until this season of American Idol is over.
In the meantime, he can get his overbite ready for season 3 of Dancing with the Stars.