Light on My Feet

I wish I had some sort of reasonable expectation why I have been mainlining old seasons of the Lifetime “Dance Moms” instead of digging into the growing stack of books on my shelf, plowing through some of the TCM old movies I’ve DVRed, or worked my way through the growing chunk of season two of “The Americans” I have to offer.

Really though, it is all about laziness.  At the end of the day, I find myself tired and rather than focus on really taking in something I know I will enjoy, I watch something that is the equivalent of junk food so I can write this or play a little online poker or clean up around the house.

I don’t like the feeling I am only accomplishing one thing at a time, but really am I accomplishing anything by piping Dance Moms into my ear while I work?  As a former dance competition kid myself, I was curious about this show, which grows increasingly more staged and preposterous as I now end Season 2.  Having kids learn and perform brand new dances every week? Not likely.  "Fake" auditions for the Joffrey and other Lifetime programming help create drama much like this manufactured rivalry between the show’s star, dance instructor Abby Lee Miller and Kathy, the woman who runs the quaint dance shop Candy Apples.

Like the Real Housewives, I think there is some sort of fascination from my anthropological studies days that keeps me from tuning out completely, but I got a little concerned when tonight I opted for this to be what I actually watched as opposed to the noise in my ear for the work day.  In my time to unwind at home, I should be taking advantage of the opportunity to focus, but instead I want to be able to tune out.  

I blame my queue, which is increasingly becoming heavy on foreign flicks and, well, heavy stuff.  I don’t think I would choose to watch Dance Moms over something a little easier to tackle in an evening than “The Sand Pebbles”, but there seems to be a lack of this sort of stuff online.  Prime on Amazon is getting more and more reality fare, which is the closest thing I can get to a quick fix of entertainment, so I will take it for now.  After all, I am a dancer and I guess I gotta dance when I gotta dance.

But I am hoping someone saves me from myself here soon, as all this screaming and yelling, fluffy as it may feel, might just start weighing me down instead of keeping me light on my feet.

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