Usually, I start watching American Idol when they get down to about ten, and skip the results shows entirely, because the medleys and the Ford commercials and the relentless padding and the MEDLEYS, MY GOD, THE MEDLEYS, make my brain cry. But for the sheer opportunities to ogle Paula Abdul's crazy clothes, the stuff the stylists-on-crack (as opposed to crack stylists) put on the contestants, and the big-name special guests, I could not resist starting earlier and TiVoing the results show for minimum pain.
I was rewarded with Kanye West.
[Photo: My TV. I'm really, really sorry the quality stinks.]
Now, Kanye here must have been rather knackered, since he's been jet-setting from Milan to Paris watching a bunch of runway shows with his extra-terrestrial girlfriend. But I was still sort of saddened to see him eschew his flashier threads -- like all the jackets that look like he stole them from a high-school pep band -- in favor of a bunch of mismatched denim pieces that many people call at least a partial Texas Tuxedo (although a lot of our Texas readers beg to differ, and who can blame them?). You'd think that, after hanging out in Milan, where Agatha Ruiz De La Prada sent models down the catwalk in baguette hats, dresses that look like breakfast, and a skirt with a handlebar mustache -- or in Paris, where a recent runway show featured a skirt in the image of Animal from The Muppet Show -- that we'd have gotten something with a little more oomph. Something a tad less discount from a dude who thinks he's so awesome, he was quoted as saying the greatest pain in his life is that he cannot watch himself perform live.
Perhaps if he could, he'd have noticed this little hitch in his giddyup:
Every time he bent over to touch the fans -- or, in this case, hop up on the desk -- his pants slid further down his ass. I kept rooting for them to drop off with gusto as he reached the climax of the song. Alas, they did not. Apparently the magic of Kanye is that he can control his trousers with his MIND.
He also worked some wonders with his backup singer:
I was rewarded with Kanye West.
[Photo: My TV. I'm really, really sorry the quality stinks.]
Now, Kanye here must have been rather knackered, since he's been jet-setting from Milan to Paris watching a bunch of runway shows with his extra-terrestrial girlfriend. But I was still sort of saddened to see him eschew his flashier threads -- like all the jackets that look like he stole them from a high-school pep band -- in favor of a bunch of mismatched denim pieces that many people call at least a partial Texas Tuxedo (although a lot of our Texas readers beg to differ, and who can blame them?). You'd think that, after hanging out in Milan, where Agatha Ruiz De La Prada sent models down the catwalk in baguette hats, dresses that look like breakfast, and a skirt with a handlebar mustache -- or in Paris, where a recent runway show featured a skirt in the image of Animal from The Muppet Show -- that we'd have gotten something with a little more oomph. Something a tad less discount from a dude who thinks he's so awesome, he was quoted as saying the greatest pain in his life is that he cannot watch himself perform live.
Perhaps if he could, he'd have noticed this little hitch in his giddyup:
Every time he bent over to touch the fans -- or, in this case, hop up on the desk -- his pants slid further down his ass. I kept rooting for them to drop off with gusto as he reached the climax of the song. Alas, they did not. Apparently the magic of Kanye is that he can control his trousers with his MIND.
He also worked some wonders with his backup singer:
[Photo: Me again. I'm not proud of it. Seriously, this was my fourth attempt. NOTHING I TRIED WORKED. Although secretly I find our very low-tech ghetto TV photos hilarious.]
LOOK AT THIS WOMAN. (If you can see.) She was standing there, wiggling her shoulders from side to side, and I swear it looked like she was an mosquito about to take off, land on Kanye's neck, and snack on some of his blood. Those sleeves are majestic. They look like a video game -- a beautiful, hallicinatory high-fashion video game where you get to design a runway collection on the Wii and make all your Miis wear them down the catwalk, at which point they get into a giant street fight of some kind using only their hands, feet, heads, and bulbous, outrageous clothing as weapons. If Alexis Morell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan could've gotten her hands on some of these, she'd have been UNSTOPPABLE. Just THINK of all the oil leases she'd have secured, the board members she'd have fired, the expensive stemware she'd have hurled into the fireplace, and the men she'd have lured into her bed so that she could serve them caviar for breakfast.
Even Paula looks thrilled.
Well, more accurately, Paula looks like a proud brothel madam who just watched her most junior-level ho head off into the sunset with her first john. But at this point, isn't that what she's there to do? Certainly they don't keep her for her insightful comments.
