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:
Continue reading Fugye West and Friends.
