5,6,7,8

Man, I was THIS close to not even bothering to blog today. I feel like crappity crap crap crap.

I seem to be reaching that apex of symptoms, where you feel like cutting off your nose off just to allow an airway somewhere. But Mr. Blogger made me suck down copious amounts of TheraFlu last night, so here's hoping it kicks in at some point.

Anyway, I lay in bed for a long time this morning 'cause apparently itty bitty jackhammers have taken over the inside of my head. My guess is they're putting in an extra layer of cement in there...heaven knows my brain feels heavy enough.

In no hurry to get up and moving, I decided to watch the finale of So You Think You Can Dance that I had taped last night (it conflicted with America's Next Top Model...so many reality shows, so little tape left).

I know, I know; I'm probably the only dork who watched this show. Even Mr. Blogger was out by the second episode, and that man watched ALL season of Fame Academy 2003 with me.

(It was a UK show...basically American Idol crossed with The Real World...how can you beat THAT combination?? Oh, how we adored that tiny little lesbian who won.)

I have to tell you though, that anything involved with dancing, or singing, or just performing in general is going to get my attention. I can't remember a time when I didn't do all of the above. All through school, I was in so many musicals. When it came time to audition, I could probably guarantee I already knew the show backwards and forwards, and we probably had the soundtrack at home. Almost everyone in my family was a performer in one way or another, and it HAD to rub off.

I started playing the piano at about 3 or 4 when my Grandpa let me sit next to him at the bench. He could play ANYTHING. And I continually tortured the poor man with "More Rachmaninoff!!", clapping wildly for my favorite piece. When, after I had been playing, competing and composing for almost ten years, he tried to teach it to me...I couldn't apologize enough for picking such a freakin' ridiculously difficult opus.

My dad sang ALL THE TIME. Even when he was a judge, he'd hit the piano bars to perform on weekends. If he knew the words to something, he'd join right in...whether people wanted him to or not. You did NOT sing "The Impossible Dream" in his presence...you were guaranteed to have to bow out as he took over. I know I get my VERY LOUD voice from him, that's for sure. I assumed all people sang with such gusto!

Besides being quite the songstress in her own right, Mom was a little prima ballerina when she was growing up...stern Russian Ballet Mistress whipping her legs with a stick whenever she dared to perform without perfect technique. She came to hate it so much though, that she vowed her child would learn an instrument instead. None of this ballet nonsense. (Of course, I immediately begged to take dance classes when I started to feel the same resentment about piano...)

To this day, I'll pop in the CD of West Side Story while driving, just so I can sing all the songs. Of course, I perform every role. I can even do both Maria and Tony WHILE they're singing a duet. Impressive, huh? (But I'm surprised the windows don't break when I attempt Maria's high notes. I'm actually much better in Tony's range.)

Dance, however, is I think the most visceral of anything I attempted. You either feel it or you don't. But come on people, I've got Mexican blood in me...we like to MOVE! When I'm working out...I better have Nirvana's "Nevermind" in my walkman, or it's gonna be one long treadmill run.

So I loved that stupid "SYTYCD" and watched it religiously. I was so jealous of everyone's technique and skill and, try not to laugh, I literally teared-up when some of them were so incredibly good. I KNOW how hard that is to pull off. And I'm glad Nick won. You never know how things will turn out when it's a popularity vote. (I AM SUCH A DORK!)

I soooo would have tried out for some kind of performance reality show if they had been on when I was growing up. Oh well, there's always the next generation.

My poor future children.