Monday, March 21, 2011


by Kate Collins

I’ll admit it. I’m a Dancing with the Stars junkie. I simply can’t get enough. It doesn’t even bother me anymore that the lineup of “stars” are many people I’ve never heard of. To me, it’s about watching the transformations from a state of two-left-footedness (and I don’t care if that’s not a real word; it works for me) to a skillful, or at least semi-skillful, dancer.

I’m not too fond of the formulaic aspect – one young Olympic gold medalist or comparable athlete, one or two super sports stars, two or three actors, and a senior citizen – because the competition seems too predictable. Yet I’ve been surprised, and in one case, appalled. If you’re a fan, you know who I mean.

The hiatus between seasons is pure misery for me. Of course, this is aided in large part by the abysmally horrid shows on television this year. I mean, seriously, besides Castle, 30 Rock, reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond, Masterpiece Theater, and just about anything on HGTV, what is there to watch?

So it is with great anticipation that I look forward to tomorrow night, when the new season starts. Who will be the first to go? Who will manage to hang on purely because of fan base but no real skill? Who will be blowing their horn at first and then fizzle? Who will start out slow and pick up steam?

I can’t wait for this train to leave the station. Anyone on board with me?

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