Monday, February 09, 2015

dance moms AKA how not to raise your kids

there's nothing i crave more when i visit the states than american TV, and by that i mean trashy reality TV. my past few visits have included dunkin donuts coffee-fueled afternoon marathons of here comes honey boo boo, hoarders, braxton family values and--my favorite, up until yesterday--mob wives. but thanks to my dear friend james and a chrome VPN, we found dance moms on american netflix.

it's everything i love and secretly miss about america: bad highlights, SUV-driving mothers who wear one-shoulder rayon chiffon dresses to pick their children up from dance practice, girls named vivi-anne, and, of course, no shortage of those 32oz. dunkin donuts coffee tumblers.

look up--that's abby lee miller of the abby lee dance company in pittsburgh, PA. she looks like a grown-up pageant girl, doesn't she? a glamour gal gone wrong, several decades later. she's a dance instructor, a raspy-voiced dictator of dance, and owing to the success and fame she's achieved in little old pittsburgh, i'd say rather good at what she does. but enough about abby lee. it may be her show, it may be her dance studio, it may be her name, but what dance moms really is is a three-ring circus of amazing, psychopathological behavior.

i could go on and give examples but i'm only six episodes into the first series, which means i've got a lot of catching up to do. just watch it.

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