Unless there is a go-go cage (or pole), tighty-whities and the opportunity to cop a cheap grope while inserting paper currency into the waistband of the latter, I have little use for dancers. Their lifelong obsession with their bodies and getting into the front line in a milieu where opportunities to do so are severely limited often seems to cause atrophy in their development of their souls; all too often dancers seem to have spent so much energy on their physical flexibility and line that their emotional and intellectual growth freezes somewhere in early puberty. Pretty, but spending much time with them is a frustrating exercise in trying to engage them in conversation of wider perspective than their own self-centered perspective: the core they develop has to do with abdominal muscles and balancing on one foot, rather than the ability to see the world through someone else’s eyes.
Which begs the question: why am I obsessed with Derek Hough? Perhaps because I will never meet him. Perhaps because, unlike his Dancing With The Stars co-hort, Mark Ballas, Derek seems more concerned with choreographing numbers that highlight his partners as opposed to creating opportunities to show himself off. Although, last night’s shirtless turn with Kellie Pickler did show him off quite nicely.
Maybe Derek is that dancer who has a longer view, who doesn’t live in a tiny, little obsessively ego-centric world in which really listening to and considering others is never more than a learned pose into which he morphs with the appropriate cue of “and a five-six-seven-eight.”