My friend Steve has a theory that most popular black culture is a joke perpetrated by the rich white men who actually own hip hop record labels.
He envisions these fat, greedy bastards sitting around trying to one-up each other on outlandish and outlandishly expensive things - like $400 spinning rims - for black people to waste their money on instead of investing in, say, a college fund.

Now, I don't normally watch reality television. (Nice transition, eh?) But my girlfriend, she watches the "Who Wants to Dance?" program. Or no, sorry, the "So You Think You Can Dance?" program. Which means I watch that very same program, unless I can find something else to do, like the dishes, or simonizing the light switches.
The show had it's season 5 finale yesterday, and after having seen more than enough broadcasts, I can now unequivocally reveal what I believe to be a similar (though less pernicious) joke played on the whole of humanity by the dancey-dancey world: Contemporary dance.

It used to be called "Modern dance," but it could just as accurately be called "flailing your arms, staggering like a drunk, and then rolling on the floor."
It looks absolutely nothing like dancing of any kind, on any planet of this or any other galaxy, and is the most boring, uninspiring schlock I've ever seen on television - and I've seen "According to Jim."
There is one exception to this rule, as there must always be, and that is found in any dance put together by Mia Michaels, one of many choreographers for the dancey...show...thing.
Michaels, however, combines huge portions of other dance styles and moves in a very deliberate order with the aim of telling a story through movement. Not that I ever know what the hell that story is supposed to be, but it at least looks like people, you know, dancing, whereas most contemporary dance resembles Joe Cocker.

There is another gem to this show I would be remiss not to mention: Lil C.
Lil C is another choreographer, and though I would be hard pressed to tell you anything about his work, I love the little weirdo. You never know what he's going to say, but you can always count on it being entertaining.
Example: "It's really difficult to locate the avenue of gain when you're being chauffeured by loss. And I think every opportunity is one step closer to perpetual evolution."
I swear, I did not make one word of that up. The best part of it, though, is that he clearly thinks this is incredibly insightful stuff, when it in fact sounds like five or six fortune cookies strung together in quick succession.
Here's a more recent one: "The primary focus of all obstacles is to induce labor so progression can be born."
Really dude? Really?
I imagine him just scrawling words and phrases like "cosmic," "redemption," "triviality" and "transcendence" on cards, and picking them out of a hat to form these "insights."
"The dancers' redemption of form can only be achieved after triviality is truly transcended through cosmic congruence," for instance.

Oh, and that lady who screams? Well, let's just say nature isn't the only thing that abhors a vacuum. Actually, she wouldn't be so bad if her face wasn't carrying enough botulism to kill half the U.S. Navy. I mean, screaming I can handle. But totally expressionless screaming? Shudder.

PARTING SHOT:
Revamp idea for "My Mother the Car" with a more paternal twist: "Van of the House." Look for it on whatever brain-addled channel keeps renewing unfunny sitcoms starring fat comedians married to thin, bitchy women THIS FALL!