So Helio Castroneves vrooms off with the trophy for this season of Dancing.
I am mad about Maks and kinda dug Mel B's dancing and style, and if nothing else, Maks did walk off with the best line of the season. Mel leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed, "God." And Maks said, "Just call me Maks." Yeah, I guess if you don't find him as hot as I do, the line doesn't work. But he wears his ego well.
Despite Maks's cocky adorableness, I don't mind Helio winning. I mean, he charmed my socks off the first few weeks. I did feel he became a bit of a caricature by trying so hard to be so happy and smiley, but he worked hard, wanted it, and was a good dancer. More he importantly, survived the most outlandishly awful costuming for a male on this show ever. Also, did you know that he is a race car driver?
There was no fence for Indy's Spiderman to climb, but he was awarded milk and the coveted mirror ball trophy.
Though Monday night blew chunks -- with the exception of Marie's so-bad-it-was-great stumbling, sex-doll send-up disaster -- as a whole, this season was alright. I leave it still wanting a personal, mini-Bruno to cheer me on and compare me to old movies. "Weeell, Soozahn, you remind me of Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve."
There were fainting Mormons and bitchy Brits (Len, not Jane). They reportedly used over 14 gallons of spray tan. (that number seems low) I couldn't even begin to estimate how many sequins this show blew through. Last night, Drew almost dropped his trousers for us, that was nice of him. So as long as Maks comes back and shows some skin -- though not quite as much as Edyta -- I'll be watching again when they trot out their tangos and get cheeky with the cha cha cha. Until then, it's time to tuck away the bedazzler and rhinestones, let our skin fade out, stop pretending to salsa across the living room and let Helio enjoy the drive as king of the (dubiously) celebrity ballroom.