Yes, I’m completely psyched that So You Think You Can Dance is back.

Why? Because it’s pretty much the only “reality competition” in existence that actually showcases and rewards the talents of its participants. American Idol is just looking for product; America’s Got Talent is just looking for freaks. (Bring back Project Greenlight, and I’ll praise that one, too. Gulager! Gulager! Gulager!)

And it’s not just that Dance hinges on creative passion and real chops. The show also celebrates a niche art form about which most consumers of pop culture above the age of, oh, let’s say thirteen couldn’t care less – unless, of course, it’s on a major network during prime time. So for a few years, kids and their parents will remember that dance is inspired, and rich in tradition, and freakin’ HARD, and the kids will want to dance and their parents will support them. After that, most of ‘em will lose interest (did I mention it’s freakin’ HARD?), and the show’s numbers will drop, and it will be canceled. But for that time, the gifted contestants will get exposure, and work. And not all of the kids will forget – a few of ‘em will get hooked, and keep the art alive.

Somebody should produce a reality competition for aspiring novelists. Yeah, I know, it sounds boring – but so is sitting around a failing campfire in the rain on the other side of some island from the resort, in theory. You’ve got to spice it up, with the drinking and the raging battles of ego and the crippling bouts of depression, and when a contestant is voted off each week, they’ll be dispatched in a manner from classic or pop or cult lit, like being eaten by a clown or a shark, or being shot by a double-crossing femme fatale, or being walled up inside a wine cellar alive, or whatever.