“So You Think You Can Dance” mini-cap: more auditions in DC and Dallas

Ah, the beautiful South, where we sip mint juleps as delicate fragrant flowers dance in the warm sun — or something like that. At least it’s warm and the dancers are dressed in something besides parkas and miles of woolen scarves.

Tonight, the judges are joined by guest judge Tyce Diorio.

One of the judges tells the man in the first ballroom couple that he’s strong in a masculine way. Huh? This isn’t the only time a dancer is praised for being manly. What, are they supposed to grunt and spit? If a guy looks the least bit swishy during the audition, woe be to him. I say, bring on the gay boys! Not like they aren’t there already. More on that later — this soapbox is making me dizzy.

Jeremiah Hughes does backflips just to warm up. (Sure, that’s what I do before my daily workout. How about you?) He babbles on about spirituality so I’m already writing “stinks” down in huge capitals and circling it twice. Good thing no one else sees my notes ‘cause he’s pretty good at all that jumping and rolling around. His rakishly unbuttoned shirt does nothing for me or for Lythgoe either who asks him to button up, then waves a ticket to Vegas in front of him.

The dancers are warming up outside including a couple doing a Carolina shag. Then Syiddah King does kind of a bumpy club dance and Shamika Robinson, a strange slo-mo hip-hop thing. Neither wants to take no for an answer. Robinson sasses that the judges just don’t know her style of dancing. Um, yeah.

Twins Anthony Hart and Antwain Hart audition separately with Antwain doing the better job. Lythgoe asks if they have something they can do together and hot damn, Anthony comes to life. They go to choreography.

The twins and 18 others get tickets to Vegas. Much celebration ensues. I’m over the happy dances already. Come to my house and give me money instead.

Day two in the beautiful South brings Abigail … I’d tell you her last name but suddenly I’m lost in those gorgeous shoulders. She’s a swim instructor. (Have I mentioned her shoulders?) As she walks up Diorio mutters “Uh oh, blue tights.” Shut up, dude. I want to like her … but no. I’d so dance with her at the local bar though. She takes the judges feedback well even saying, “I suck in dancing, thanks for telling me.”

BJ Harris is jumping against walls and over people and leaping tall buildings in a single bound. His school raised money to get him there and it was is first time flying by himself and he’s only got $10 in his pocket and … he does lay out some great hip hop moves including crawling across the floor on his back. He’s sent to the choreography round but sadly, doesn’t make it through to Vegas. I hope he has enough dough to get home.

Courtney Galiano’s grandma is in line with her at 4 AM “giving everyone breakfast.” Of course she is, she’s Italian. Galiano is a beautiful, emotional dancer. She comments that she wants Murphy to scream for her. (Heck, I’m screaming for you in my living room, isn’t that enough?) She’s going to Vegas!

Jason Loony or Betty Wallace, whether you pick the name on the application or the one he/she gives, doesn’t have it. Cute bright pink capris though. Murphy actually says bulls–t twice. Guess he wasn’t masculine enough.

It’s rumored that Charleston is haunted so we’re treated to short clips of horrifyingly bad dancing plus a whole group of waiting dancers doing “Thriller.” Yeah, we get it.

Returning dancer Claire Callaway was sent to Vegas in season 2 but hurt her foot. She was told she’d go straight to Vegas for season 3 but given that she had a bun in the oven (and I don’t mean a hard roll from the deli), she skipped last year and now, here she is. The baby kept her from keeping in shape and it shows in her audition. Diorio says she lacks dynamics. Still, her lean body did some impressive things so she’s sent to the choreography round.

Thirty-nine auditions in the choreography round, learning a routine in just 30 minutes and performing it. (Dang. I can’t remember what I did 30 minutes ago, much less perform a complicated series of movements unless it involves getting ice cream out of the freezer.) Callaway goes to Vegas. Sobbing, she collapses into Cat Deeley’s arms. Lucky woman.

The next audition city is DC. There’s the usual footage of dancers trying to keep warm in the cold including a cancan line. The guest judge here is Dan Carrity, a hip hop dancer who’s worked with Jessica Simpson and others.

Megan Campbell is first, doing an emotional routine that the judges love. She’s upbeat but shy and when she’s put through to Vegas, she runs off stage and down the aisle to hug her aunt who’s her biggest fan. They cry, she hugs Lythgoe. I cry. My cats cry.

Next up is Derrick Bradley who needed oxygen after auditioning last season. Cute but no.

Markus Shields does an emotional tribute to his mother that has Murphy in tears. He’s sent to the choreography round and ultimately, to Vegas. Good.

Next there’s a montage of tap dancers, hula dancers, women with painted white faces rolling around together, crumping on point, and crumping hula dancers with painted white faces doing tap on point.

Did you know that DC swing is the official dance of DC? Me neither. Deonna Ball and Markus Smith burn it up with a sort of hip hop / swing /Thriller era dance that’s tres awesome. They fall flat in the choreography round though. Dang.

During the commercial break I decide I don’t have to stare glassy-eyed at yet another burger pushing ad so I channel surf over to Last Comic Standing. Two guys are singing about farts. Give me ten Gold Infernos over that mess.

It’s day two in DC and every gay boy on the planet is fanning himself and looking for the smelling salts as Brandon Bryant strides on stage. Ballet, modern, jazz and tap have all been a part of his education and baby it shows. Lythgoe goes on about how masculine he is. Whatever. Carrity sweats as he sputters, “I don’t know anyone who can do that!” Bryant and his biceps are sent to Vegas. When he does his little celebration dance outside the doors, he loosens up and drops the manly vibe.

(About now I’m wishing for butch girls. Heck, I’d settle for a femme softball player in sensible shoes.)

Some sweet thing does a ribbon dance that would be more appropriate at a high school half time. She looks so dejected I want to hug her. Where’s Cat Deeley when you need her?

Speaking of ribbons, Anthony Bryant used one in an earlier season audition and Lythgoe told him he wasn’t masculine. (I’d slap him but my TV super powers aren’t working right now. I’m telling you, ice cream is just like kryptonite to me.) So this season he butches it up with military fatigues. After three years at Juilliard he’s honed his talent. He goes to the choreography round but doesn’t make it to Vegas. Deeley holds him as he sobs. Poor boy.

During the choreography round I think I see the bellydancer. Sister! She’s wearing a beaded bra but changed the bottom half of her costume to baggy paints. Ooh! Pick her! Pick her! But damn, the ice cream foiled me again and the judges couldn’t hear me. Nine others were sent to Vegas.

Milwaukee is next week. I hope my TV girlfriend is back. Maybe Cat Deeley will hug her. Now that Grey’s Anatomy is over for the season, what else do I have?

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