SYD #1

Last night was the first night I remembered to watch "So You Think You Can Dance" since Vegas week -- meaning I missed the first week of actual competitions, just like last year.

And I missed the first 20 minutes of last night's, and would have missed more thanks to this totally confusing, "this is as bad as calculus and 'adjusted gross income' lines on tax forms" digital TV switch-over, if it hadn't been for Prince Certainpersonio coming to my rescue and fixing the menu and antenna to permit Fox to show up on my TV.

Never do I feel more like a damsel in distress than when dealing with digital technology (and the aforementioned calculus and "adjusted gross income" lines).

But I did get to watch most of the second week of SYD competition, and mostly (as a surprise treat) with P.C. himself, as he was enamored of his ability to put the show simultaneously on his digital screen TV, hooked up to his computer, and my CRT TV, hooked up to my three DVD players, his PS2, and the antenna box that converts to a digital signal.

As a result, I spent most of my time, and most of the time the judges were talking, explaining what I've learned about dance, teen girl voting habits, and the judges who work on SYD, over five years of watching the show.

I don't have much of a bead on the contestants yet this year, and so I can't quite tell who will occupy the supreme spots of "girl I wish I could be" and "guy I wish I could have as my boyfriend" that determine who wins especially the earlier parts of the competition. None of the routines last night stood out much to me, although the pop jazz routine, the disco, and the tango were all pretty good. So instead of reviewing individual performances this week, I figured I'd share with you all what I forced P.C. to hear last night, over pepperjack popcorn and diet sodas.


--It's probably the case that Mary Murphy got a permanent judge spot, which she didn't have in initial seasons of SYD, because of her patented scream and, more recently, her coining and usage of the phrase "hot tamale train" in complimenting dancers.

Hearing a scream from Mary is like receiving a really ugly trophy, I told P.C.: It kind of annoys you, but the deeper you are into the competition, the more you set aside questions of appearance and irritation and accept it for the honor it is.


-- Cat Deely's wardrobe crew spends most of its time trying to one-up their previous efforts to make Cat look really, crazily weird. Last night she wore a red dress that looked like it had been made from a very large towel pinned at the shoulder, but that was nothing compared to the tuxedo dress or other, less nicknamable dresses from past seasons.

In Cat's favor, however, is her genuine attachment to the dancers that remain, which grows more poignant and obvious as the weeks of competition go on. I often feel almost as bad for Cat to see later dancers go as I do for the dancers themselves.


-- The show has tried, successfully, to incorporate dance styles from "all over the world" -- there are probably corners of the earth SYD hasn't mined yet, but India, Russia and South-Central L.A. seem like a good enough list for an "all over the world" claim -- and Nigel points this out regularly.


-- There seems to be emerging this year, perhaps because of Adam Lambert's recent coming-out (and Clay Aiken's obvious and belated coming-out awhile ago), a new category of dancer-to-vote-for: the GBF (gay best friend). (To be added to GIWICB and GIWICHAMB.)


-- The top ten dancers are really the winners. At that point, you're in the tour, and if you're not going to win the money, you're just as well off being number 10 as number 5.


Tonight is the results show, but I don't review those unless I happen to watch them and they're interesting, or until the final weeks of the season.

In the meantime, feel free to youtube last night's performances for yourselves, biotches.