Lloyd of the Dance

I remember sitting in the kitchen of our old house on Ravinia Drive, the little Bakelite radio belting out the music of my mom's generation. I was not the smartest little kid back then, I actually thought there were tiny, little people inside that thing making the music. Every once in a while those little guys would play something my mom would particularly like, and that would trigger her dance impulse. Suddenly mom would be tap dancing around the kitchen, doing her best impression of Ginger Rogers. She was pretty damn good, or at least she looked good to a five year old kid. Unfortunately, I did not inherit that dancing gene. I have never been able to dance. Don't get me wrong, I went out on the dance floor quite often back when I was much younger. It's just that I had to be drunk or high, and calling it dancing was a stretch. More like uncoordinated gyrations, and rhythmic rocking in place.

Last night Mark was watching that god-awful show, Dancing With the Stars. When I walked into the room somebody named Wendy Williams, who has legs like tree stumps, was shuffling around the stage.
"So Mark who are these people?"
He proceeded to rattle off a list of names that I had never heard of before except for that fat girl from Cheers, and Ralph Macchio.
"I thought this was called Dancing With the Stars."

Obviously the threshold for stardom on this television show is quite low. In fact I think that if I managed to get my name in the news somehow, or got a part as an extra in some production here in Florida, I'd qualify as a star. Maybe if I became a You Tube star....
Hmmm, Alicia shuffling around on DWTS, she'd be at least as good as that Wendy Williams.