Now that Dancing With the Stars is a hit instead of a grotesque curiosity, it’s starting to attract contestants who are actual stars. But they could do better. I mean, I'm mad about Belinda Carlisle, but she's not a Go Go; by now she's a Gone Gone.

Meet the new cast of Dancing with the Stars

Denise Richards isn't a Wild Thing, she's a Child Thing (her adorable tots talked her into doing the show). Steve Wozniak belongs on Kathy Griffin's arm. About the only star of a magnitude to satisfy me in the new cast is Jewel, and she may not make it to the show -– apparently her chest fell over and landed on her kneecaps, or something.

See pictures of Denise Richards

Clearly, I'm going to have to take casting matters into my own hands. Let's raise some eyebrows, people! Denise can stay, but since the only interesting thing about her is her ex-husband Charlie Sheen's tabloid extravaganzas, why not pair her with somebody she'd really have something to talk about with backstage? Yes, I'm talking Michael Jackson. His star has fallen so far, he could use the publicity. It would be entertaining to see his backwards-moondance take on swing dance. And at a half-century old, he makes her look younger than springtime.

Dancing with the Stars through the seasons

Stars could reheat some dancing dishes whose steps may be impeccable but leave you cold emotion-wise. I'm sorry, but Edyta Sliwinska is a Polish sausage with no spice. But put her in the arms of Patrick Wilson and she'd sizzle. Wilson wouldn't need much coaching to catch up, like way too many DWTS stars -- remember that killer dance competition he and Claire Danes did in that Gap commercial, to the tune of "Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better"? As a tormented bisexual in Angels in America and Ellen Page's victim in Hard Candy, he showed enough electric intensity to jolt Edyta to life -- and if her hair stands up like the Bride of Frankenstein, we'll deal. Besides, Wilson needs to dance off the reported 20 pounds he gained for Watchmen.

Mark Ballas is Mr. Perfection when it comes to Paso Doble. But he'd double our fun if he faced off with a distaff matador like Madonna. She rises to a challenge and could use the dance lessons, frankly. Her steps need refreshing, and he needs someone to scare him silly. Think Derek Hough couldn't be better? How about pairing his precise, Fosse-esque hip pivots with Beyonce for a Mexican breakfast of frisky fun? He needs somebody to dance with who doesn't seem like a sister. She needs something less austere than that all-white backdrop -- DWTS woulda put a bling on it.

And how about Julianne Hough? Scarcely ever misses a step unless she's just stepping out of surgery, but still, there's something terminably perky about her. Shallow, sparkly. How about adding a darker spark by flinging her in the ring with Christopher Walken? Besides his notorious charm as The Continental no woman can resist (throwing champagne in the face of), Walken can really, truly cut a rug. He started out as a dancer, for god's sake. Julianne would be way more arresting if you kept on the edge of your seat waiting for him to pull out a gat and splatter her for the delectation of Tarantino.

I'm crazy about Kym Johnson, but I do suspect she's an inflatable doll. She needs gravitas, and who better to provide it than a distinguished New Yorker contributor, a belletrist memoir author so distinguished you can't believe he’s an actor, an intellectual playwright, major American art collector, and balloon-animal sculptor? Steve Martin would add all the class and brains Kym so screamingly needs. His happy feet aren’t quite on par with Walken's, but he responded incredibly well to the crash course that gave us the dance-eriffic Pennies From Heaven and he radiates grace.

Cheryl Burke needs a vast slab of man to anchor her pudgy flightiness, but I’m sick of dancing athletes even if America can't get enough of them. Let's justify that epic grin on her face by pairing her with John Travolta. He's a star and a greater dancer than most of the dancers, but he's put on almost as many real pounds as he put on fake female pounds in Hairspray. He reminds me of once-svelte dancer Mark Morris, who used to pound the floorboards like an NBA forward, but the last time I saw Travolta he languished lazily onstage like a lion in a tree after dining on one too many gazelles. The man is a wall of well-marbled meat anymore -- just the man for Cheryl Burke.

I'm not married to these candidates. I'm willing to hear alternatives. But I won't compromise on two demands: DWTS, get real stars! And make the couplings startling.

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