Hope you enjoyed your brief reign as America's Favorite Dancer, uh... I want to say "Jasmine"? "Lurleen"? Damn, I've forgotten. Anyway, you're done. Through. It's over. America is so in love with dancing that we're not allowed to get through even two months without So You Think You Can Dance on our television screens. So what's different? Well, instead of 18 hours spread over two days, it looks like we're getting a much less hysterical one hour a week. Here's hoping to God that means no time wasted on attention-starved joke auditioners. You know who I'm talking about.

We open with a montage from the past seasons, including some rare footage of Mary screaming, and a crawl along the bottom grimly telling us that those of you expecting to watch Obama's Congressional speech on health-care better turn to Fox News, which is where they've got commentators standing by ready to declare the president racist. Things are cheerier in the So You Think You Can Dance world. On-screen titles make much of the fact that Season 6 is occurring during the "fall," hence the montage of people falling. And Cat Deely chirpily lets us know that -- in stark contrast to the expectation of a freefall in talent with each successive season -- this season promises to be the best ever. Maybe, at various points along the season, we'll hear all of the judges make the same bold prediction. Me, I've got 20 bucks and a high-five for any judge who says something like, "I think this season is third-best. That's still pretty good!"

It's the biggest audition tour evah, Cat lets us know, with prospective dancers lining up in six cities. Nigel tells some auditioner his performance was [bleeped], and then makes a face. Tyce Diorio says something bitchy, somewhere in the middle ground between when he gets warmed up and the really mean thing that'll make Nigel say, "Seriously, guy, dial it back a bit. You don't need to eat their souls." The auditionees will get cut down to 200 who go to Las Vegas for the toughest week of their lives (dance-wise, anyway). In the end, 20 will compete for the title.

There's Cat, in white, stomping out into a series of spotlights. She's like a Bonnie Tyler video. (Ask your parents.) The dancers will need strength, personality, boobs, technique and, above all, talent like you don't see on any other show (except for the other dancing shows, I suppose). Note: Cat might not have actually said "boobs." But I was momentarily distracted by some cleavage. So do you think you can dance? Audience lights come up on the crowd in the Ford Theatre, who scream at Cat that yes, they think they can dance, or probably more accurately, they think they would like to watch some people who think they can dance.

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