Ian's Dancing with the Stars Blog

So this week John Ratzenberger got sent home. People may not remember, but he did step in at the very last moment to replace Vincent Pastore, and even though he was playing catch up, he had a really positive attitude about this experience, and was sort of the father figure of the crew. So it was sad to see him go.

I know Billy was on the chopping block with John and I would have felt awful if Billy got sent home since this past week he took time out of his rehearsal to hang with me a little and help me loosen up. I had a blast learning the bubba chicken (I had no idea what I was doing but I certainly had fun doing it), and I think Billy's fun-loving attitude really helped me relax and start having more fun.

Believe it or not, I think the fact that we had two dances to learn this week gave me the chance to stop stressing. There just wasn't any time for me to overanalyze (which I certainly do): I learned the steps and moved on. And with Billy's help, I had fun, too! If I get sent home before Billy, I want all my supporters to vote for him. He's awesome! Not to mention the fact that Laila, Apolo and Joey don't need any more help.

Before I write this week’s Dancing with the Stars blog, I wish to extend my most sincere and heartfelt wishes to the entire Virginia Tech family. Words simply cannot convey my overwhelming sense of sorrow. My prayers and thoughts are with those affected by this tragedy, now and forever.

This week, we saw Clyde Drexler get voted off. Clyde is the epitome of what it means to be a class act. All I can say is that if the DWTS producers put basketball hoops at both ends of the dance floor, every dance for Clyde would have been a slam-dunk.

You know the expression, “Every pot has a cover?” Well, I’ve discovered — the hard way — that every dance has a pain. The cha-cha wreaks havoc on the feet; the quickstep and jive do a number on your legs; the samba destroyed my lower back from all the hip action. I felt the judges scored last week’s samba performance fairly, and with each future dance, I hope to continually improve for the sake of the judges, the fans and Cheryl. (As my own harshest critic, unless the score is 10-10-10, I’m never satisfied.)

Speaking of Cheryl, our next dance is the paso doble. Of all the dances so far, I think the paso doble will really bring out the best in me. The paso doble, from the male dancer’s perspective, is based on a matador’s movements in a bullfight; the female dancer plays the role of a cape or the bull. The dance is all about "the chase": passion, drama and the matador’s abundance of confidence and/or arrogance, depending on how you view his role. (Sounds like I’ll have to mentally channel my old buddy Steve Sanders.) Now, this is a dance I plan to take complete ownership of, and be the showman the judges and Cheryl want me to be. To paraphrase Dr. Evil in Austin Powers, "I didn’t spend six weeks in Evil Dance School to be called, 'McStiffy,' thank you very much."

After spending a few months with me in L.A., my 86-year-old dad flew back to the East Coast to spend time with my two brothers and their families, and my Uncle Jerry who was just diagnosed with laryngeal cancer. It's always great to have my dad in L.A. with me, and he will fly back for certain if Cheryl and I dance in the finals. If you’ve been watching DWTS, you know that my dad sat in the front row of every show, proudly beaming. But you don’t know the story behind his smile… until now.

For the last 10 years, my dad has had upper dentures, which had worn down from wear and tear. Over the years I fought him tooth (no pun intended) and nail to get a new upper plate. Well, I finally “won,” and he did agree to get new teeth. Why am I writing about my dad’s chompers? Because whenever I danced, I would see my dad with the biggest smile on his face, and it’s the smile I used to see as a kid when I did a “first time” anything; it made me so happy to see his face light up. Sure, I’ll miss kissing my dad on the cheek after the show’s first commercial break, so now I’ll just have to call him after the first break instead, although we speak every day. In the meantime, I have the memory of my dad’s smile with me — and his love and support, as always. That’s what’s so great about DWTS, it’s brought so many new dimensions into my life.

Check out www.ianziering.com or www.myspace.com/officializ to see some fun videos I've been making along the way, and please don’t forget to tune in on Monday to see Cheryl and I perform the paso doble. We’re hoping we have our own slam-dunk. Olé!

Let's state the obvious about last week's show: I made a misstep. Missteps happen. I didn't want it to happen, it shouldn't have happened, but it happened. While I take Dancing with the Stars insanely seriously — I'm in this competition to win — I didn't feel that the misstep took away from the overall dance performance. (I mean, my buns haven’t moved like that... ever!) The judges, however, felt otherwise. Cheryl, who is obviously a dancer without peer, does such an amazing job with the choreography, and I really feel like I let her down. Anyway, what happened, happened. Now we have our next dance to consider: the waltz.

Ah, the waltz. What can I say about the waltz? One would think this is the perfect dance for me, since the waltz originated in Vienna, and my grandfather, Joseph Ziering, came to the United States via Austria. Yeah, one would think it's the dance for me, but the truth is that I am a very high-energy "toe-tapping fingers-snapping" kind of person, and to take my energy level down for a slow dance is a change for me — although a refreshing change. While the jive, tango and quickstep have musical and technical moments that "grab" you, the waltz doesn't really do that — the music doesn't really lead you through the dance, as other dance music might. The waltz is by nature slower, reserved and muted. What I have to focus on — and what Cheryl has me focus on — is keeping me on my toes (literally) and getting to a place where my moves are smooth, seamless and elegant. Hey, at least the feeling in my toes has returned since the quickstep. I'm always grateful for the little victories.

As nerve-racking as the actual dance shows are, the results shows are a hundred times worse. The live audience can clap and stand up in appreciation, and the professional judges can give their expert opinions, but it's you, the home voters, who really make the difference. In all seriousness, I want to thank you for watching the show, and especially thank those of you who took/take the time to vote for me. To say that I am grateful is a true understatement.

DWTS has been a great experience so far. The only thing greater than the DWTS experience right now is the way it’s brought my family physically closer. In my last blog, I mentioned that my dad flew out from the East Coast to be with me since the show began. Last week, my two older brothers flew out to L.A. to lend their love and support. For the first time in 16 years, the Ziering men were all sleeping under the same roof. It was a blast; sort of like the Brady Bunch episode where the Brady boys tried to scare the Brady girls using a flashlight and a white bed sheet "ghost," until Alice breaks Carol's clay bust of Mike's head. Good stuff. Anyway, in between dance rehearsals, my brothers and I managed to short-sheet each others' beds, put plastic wrap on the toilet seat, and put Krazy Glue instead of Polident on Dad's dentures. (To this day, my dad's chompers have stayed in place.) Pretty kooky stuff. I'm kidding about all that stuff of course, but nothing beats spending time with my family. Nothing.

Except, of course, winning this competition. I want to raise the winner's disco-ball trophy in the air, much in the same way Rocky Balboa, after running the 72 steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art stairs, raised his arms in triumph.

Now that would definitely be the right step for me.

Let me start by saying this: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry if at any point in my lifetime, through thought, word or deed, I somehow came to think that dancing was just a form of recreation and not a sport, and that those who participated were not athletes. Though the extent of my dance-competition exposure was really limited to Saturday Night Fever and my niece's dance recitals, I never really gave thought to professional dancers as athletes.

I do now.

When I was invited to be on Dancing with the Stars, I was apprehensive about how my friends and family would respond. Would they think it was goofy? Did they think I could dance? Would they support me? Heck, would they take the time to vote for me, or, as a goof, vote for a competitor? Well, I was floored (no pun intended) by their response: They all knew — and loved — the show. Everyone, from my L.A. friends to my family in New Jersey, New York and Connecticut, was so supportive and excited to see me on their favorite show. So I jumped at the chance.... And here I am, psyched to be part of the Dancing with the Stars phenomenon, and part of a phenomenal show. My dad flew in from the East Coast and has been staying with me since DWTS began, which is so special for us both, especially since we both get a good laugh about me "going to dance class." My mom passed away several years ago, but I like to think she's looking down from the best seat in the house, and cheering me on the same way she used to when I was on Broadway or TV. It's all good.

I've always considered myself to be in pretty good shape, but once I committed to the show, I trained even harder to increase my stamina. For two hours every day, I trained. In addition to weight training, I incorporated Pilates and yoga to strengthen my abs and to help my balance and flexibility. I even took my dog Sparky on hikes in Runyon Canyon. So much for being "man's best friend": After all the hiking, I don't even think Sparky likes me anymore.

All that training has paid off — to a certain extent. Listen, I love dancing with Cheryl Burke; she's a phenomenal dancer and person in every sense. But there isn't a muscle, tendon, bone or appendage on my body that doesn't ache, throb, or scream for mercy. I burn in places that can't be discussed in mixed company. And, since it's important that men's dance shirts remain in place during a performance, the shirts button in the crotch like a baby's onesie — after wearing these shirts, I am skeptical I can reproduce. As I write this, I have feeling in only three of my toes. Every day, I struggle through ice baths for my feet, and endless full-body Epsom-salt soaks in my bathtub. (If your grocery store is out of Epsom salt, no doubt it's because I've cleaned them all out.) There is no question my electric bill will shoot through the roof from all the hot-tub soaks I've taken to relieve the pain. The show has consumed me 24/7. Clearly, this ain't no West Beverly High prom, or a night at the Peach Pit After Dark. But you know what?

I. Am. Loving. This!

I am not a "natural" dancer, but I've got enough rhythm to not embarrass myself or my date at the occasional wedding or nightclub. I can count the number of dance classes I took as a teen on one hand, and I only did them so I could disco and "do the hustle." When DWTS producers told me Cheryl was my partner, I was stoked. She's so talented, and aside from her dance expertise, Cheryl knows how to bring out the best in her partners. But don't let her sexy dresses fool you: Cheryl definitely wears the pants in this relationship. She keeps me on my toes, so I can keep off hers.

And that's nothing to be sorry about.

Check out my latest news on ianziering.com, which is updated daily with photos and videos.