Now that is definitely and truly a jive. Now that is definitely what I was talking about.

Unh...anybody upset about not having Kittycat tape? Rewind the VCR to Italy.

To be more specific: 1998 Worlds OD. Barbara Fusar-Poli and Maurizio Margaglio. Everything but the green M&Ms.

I promise.

Talk about flashbacks...all the way to 1984.

Viva Italia! Whooo-hoo!

Jive. Finally. Lecture Material.

Wow. Multiple wows. I will be coherent in a second.

Okay. Note her position. Any edge. Notice that she is extending that edge as far as it will go. And then, very dangerously, snaps it like hell into a hairpin mountain turn...Coming down in the Maserati at about 60. That is the essence of the jive. Snap. That edge had better hold. Because you set it up first. A rod of solid steel with a rubber band attached at one end. That. Is the jive. All else is irrelevant.

But nice. This is not the waltz. This is the Grand Prix. Look at those costumes. Off the ice, like everybody else's. On the ice -- special. Fun. Reminds me of the dance Cecile and Jonathan showed up at. She dragged something out of her closet. Nice, flirty, and short. He went in his classy, preppy best. They didn't consult. They looked good. They blended. Masculinity and femininity. I think you're getting the point. Those skates of hers could as well have been Dr. Scholl's. (Cecile had a running argument with the basketball team. One of her stunts.)

Music? Just pick the music. Anywhere from the '30s to the '90s. Now you see why?