Last night we got to re-watch Melissa John Hart's Charleston (they were given the dubious honor of the encore performance) and I had to reconsider my previous salty ways -- it was pretty damn good. Maybe she was holding out the first few weeks as an intentional strategy to take the crown, waiting for the front runners to crack under pressure so she can step into their slots. Afterward, Shakira performed a couple of songs in a swimsuit with broken mirrors glued down the front (and one of Carrie Ann's bump-its in her hair), once with fake taiko drumming and once with a guy who wasn't Wyclef, but some other dude with dreads to sing along to "Hips Don't Lie." I love the professional dance numbers that happen on results show nights, but the plugs for various ABC shows and pop stars can get a bit weary during the hour, when really we just want to see who will inevitably get bathed in red light and deemed in jeopardy.
I was pretty close in my prediction of Aaron Carter getting upset, since he landed in the bottom two last night, but he escaped the chopping block and instead Ultimate Fighting Champion Chuck Liddell was the one to go, taking with him my fantasy of brutish beer-drinking dudes who subscribe to pay-per-view cagefighting, sitting down all over the world to see some waltz and tango.