Today is Wednesday, which means tonight I shall be ensconsed in my bedroom watching the show no one else in my house wants to see. So You Think You Can Dance starts at 8 pm tonight, and so does my drooling.
I have to admit it . . . I’m a sucker for muscles, watching them move and flex and extend. Men who use those muscles gracefully are the sexiest of all if you ask me. So, whenever there’s a man doing a grand jete, I’m there applauding.
I got my first taste of the dancer’s bug when I was a wee lassie and my mom took me to see the American Ballet Theater. One of the pieces had to do with war. Whenever Death, in the form of a strong male dancer, appeared, others fell, and I was entranced. Who’d have guessed I’d become a pacifist?
Earlier this year I swooned over the performances given by the Dance Theater of Harlem given at City Center. It was the first time I’d seen their signature piece Revelations and I wasn’t disappointed.
Currently I’m settling for my Wednesday/Thursday night fixes of SYTYCD. Sigh.
