Read My Fair Lazy: One Reality Television Addict's Attempt to Discover if Not Being a Dumb Ass Is the New Black, or a Culture-Up Manifesto for Free Online

you’re totally gaming the system. You’re obligated to cook; otherwise, you’re a butter cheater.”
    “Listen,” she says, sending away another duo of frogs with a wave. “I’ve probably made each of these compounds a dozen times. I’m just writing down the work I already did. Obviously I’m hoping to win the grand prize, but they’re also giving away a bunch of ceramic butter bells to the runners-up. I’ll win some of those, because come on, I’ve already entered forty times and these recipes are gold. I’ll make sure to give you one.”
    At that moment, lightning flashes across the sky and thunder cracks and we dunk ourselves one more time to remove any stray frogs before scurrying out of the water.
    I don’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure this storm is God’s way of punishing Stacey for her butter—cheating.

    After dinner, I convince Stacey our evening would be best spent watching So You Think You Can Dance .
    During a particularly stirring piece, I turn to her and say, “Before I started watching this show, it never occurred to me that you could actually tell a story through dance. Like, who knew dance could make you feel something?”
    Stacey gives me the kind of endearing, indulgent smile reserved for kittens and children taking their first steps. Since she possesses a master’s degree in an arts-related field and was the educational director at the Goodman Theatre for seven years, I guess Stacey might already be familiar with the power of art. “Listen,” she says, “if you like dance that tells a story, I can get us tickets for Marta Carrasco.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Marta’s a who, not a what, and she’s the leader of a very cool Spanish dance troupe that does really artistic pieces. I’ve seen her a few times at the Goodman and she’s amazing.”
    “Neat! I’m totally in.”
    We finish watching the show, and at my insistence, view some quality Flavor Flav-based programming on VH1. 34 I finally retire to the guest room for the evening, where I watch an iPod Touch episode of Living Lohan before falling asleep and dreaming that Bret Michaels and I win Dancing with the Stars .

    Stacey and I go out for pancakes in the morning. When I note that my breakfast probably would be better topped with a bacon-maple butter compound, she smirks in response.

    I totally love when they do Latin dances on So You Think You Can Dance , and I’m all excited to see what I imagine are a bunch of flamenco dancers with all the flounce-y shirts and castanets and eyeliner. Stacey used to work here and still knows everyone, and since we have time before the curtain rises, she takes me around to meet important people.
    All of the Important People gush about how wonderful Marta Carrasco is, which piques my interest. And, frankly, my curiosity, because each of them mentions we might not want to sit in the first few rows. As soon as the production designer we’re talking to steps out of earshot to eat a quick dinner 35 before the show, I ask Stacey, “Why do they keep saying stuff about splash zones? Is this going to turn into a Gallagher show complete with sledgehammers and watermelons?”
    Part of Stacey’s old job was to teach local gang members to appreciate the Bard, so her patience level is infinite, and this isn’t the dumbest question she’s ever been asked. 36 “No, I’m sure it has more to do with sight lines. My guess is we don’t want to be too close so we can take in all the action on the stage.” I’m glad for the warning because I’ll surely be uncomfortable if I can see the dancers’ underpants.
    We find some seats toward the back, and as my eyes adjust to the light, I take in the detail on the elaborate set. The backdrop is kind of fascinating—on the far wall, there are dozens of antique white garments hung from ropes at various angles, including a straitjacket. Staircases lead to a platform midstage with lots of little doors built into it.
    Four old, crooked bookcases are