Dancing with the Stars

I believe I’ve mentioned before that I have a weak spot for Dancing With The Stars.  It’s the only reality show I watch and there are two very specific reasons for that.  The first, shallow, frivolous reason is that the show is eye candy.  The professional dancers move so beautifully, it’s just a pleasure to watch them.  (I wish the show’s band and singers were as good.)  They also all have such lovely bodies.  I envy the women and as for the men . . . to say I lust after them is wrong, because it certainly doesn’t go that far.  I think the better thing to say is that, being a red-blooded female, I enjoy watching them.  Lots.

The second, less frivolous reason for my liking the show is the incredible pleasure I get from watching people improve and grow.  The people who come on the show moving well and continue in that vein are certainly enjoyable to watch, but the really fun ones are the people who start of woodenly stiff and, by the time they get voted off, have learned how to move.  They’ll never be great dancers, but they’ve worked really hard and it shows.  It’s like a glittery, glimmery little Horatio Alger fable each week — commit to what you’re doing, keep your spirits up, and work really, really hard, and you shall be rewarded.  Since only one “star” goes on to get the mirror ball, some might say the others aren’t rewarded, but they are.  Their reward comes from the virtuous feeling of having worked hard and gained a new skill.

Isn’t it fun to see Jacoby Jones, a phenomenal football player, take to the floor and hold his own after a couple of professionals have danced first?

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