Yes, We Admit It: We Have No Clue How To Judge A Two-Step Contest

Rocks Off has no idea how to judge a country two-step competition. A few weeks ago we were asked if we would take time out of our Friday night to judge Reliant Energy's Two-Step Showdown at Rebels Honky Tonk on Washington Avenue. Yes, that Washington Avenue. The one we spent our January mired in, researching the nightlife and mating habits of the Washington genus (like maybe this guy) and forsaking our liver and lungs in the process. So tonight we return to try our wobbly hand at judging. These are the semifinals, so God help the contestants. We apologize for our stupidity.

First off, Rocks Off has no idea how to dance in an orderly fashion. The closest we have ever gotten to a choreographed gyration was doing the Macarena at an Astros game in 1996. Anytime we have danced, it has looked like Mick Jagger getting butt-raped by Glenn Danzig. Rocks Off has a thick and utilitarian structure, so gracefulness is out of the equation. The best we can hope for is an involuntary hip swivel and maybe an off-time foot tap.

Either way, we have no frame of reference to be an authority on two-step country dancing. Didn't they two-step in the Pauly Shore movie Son-In-Law? Watching Urban Cowboy last night just made us regret being born too late to ever get laid in the parking lot of Gilley's. We know that guys have to wear tight starched Wranglers that shove your nuts to one side, and that the girls wear those Rockies Jeans that come up to the middle of your back and must be impossible to wear underwear with. After all, cowboy butts have to drive someone nuts.

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There has to be a strict cowboy-hats rule too, seeing that you probably can't rock a beanie or a trucker hat on the floor. The websites we saw on how to do the two-step were vague and clunky, but did lead us down an hour journey of listening to Clint Black and Joe Diffie. That's what we said too!

The country music we listen to is the kind where the only thing you can really do is you just sit around, smoke cigarettes and drink Lone Star. At Robert Ellis' Wednesday gigs at Mango's, we sit off to the side like an Omega Mu from Revenge Of The Nerds while all the bikers and hot indie-chicks dance all night. You can't really cut a swath on the dance floor to Billy Joe Shaver or Guy Clark. When we hear Shaver's "Live Forever," we just want to stare at the wall and lament our past, rather than take some chick by the hand and woo her to oblivion.

We don't know what to expect tonight when we bust the hatch at Rebels around 9 p.m., but you are all more than welcome to watch Rocks Off try to make hide or hair of all the footwork in front of him.

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