Michelle Obama's inaugural gown ... what will it be?

Before a First Lady had even been "elected," Project Runway alumni were challenged to design an inaugural gown. My girl Leann Marshall, self-described fashion assassin and winner of Season 5, stepped up her game to create a fetching frock out of potato sacks. Unfortunately, it was better suited to Cindy McCain. Really. She would have rocked it. Maybe she could wear something like it when her husband is presented the Mr. Incongeniality Award.

Thankfully, it will be Michelle O. twirling 'round the dance floor on Inauguration Night. With the notable exception of the very Halloweeny dress she selected for Election Night, Mrs. Obama is impeccable in her taste. I wonder how she'd look in red velvet or silk. One blogger has suggested a turquoise satin gown with a sweetheart neckline. I'm open to that. She was pretty in periwinkle on the cover of Newsweek. Very flattering color. Wow, this is not inaugurally appropriate but, wow.

I have only one request of her: Please don't choose a gown with pockets. I'm so sick of seeing celebrities and socialites slouching about in evening gowns with their hands shoved into their pockets. No woman is supposed to look that comfortable in a formal dress. I fully expect them to start mopily kicking a can that fell out of their skirt.

What do you think Mrs. O should wear?

Stripes are slimming

Republicans afraid of musical hats!

A battle over what voters can and cannot wear to the polls is headed to court in Pennsylvania. Apparently, a woman voting in the Pennsylvania primary last spring was told she'd have to take off her Obama T-shirt before entering the booth. One might assume the poll workers intended to produce a salacious video, "Voters Gone Wild," but they were actually trying to prevent "electioneering," which is sort of like auctioneering, 'cept louder.

So now a political brawl has broken out over voter fashion. The Republican Party in Pennsylvania wants a dress code, while the Democratic Party does not. I gather that the Republicans are wary of a sartorial slippery slope. Said state GOP chairman Robert Gleason: "The first thing would be a button or a shirt, and maybe the next thing would be a musical hat."

This is clearly a scheme to sabotage the anticipated young voter turnout the Democrats hope will deliver a win for Obama. Because we all know, rebellious kids can't stand being told what not to wear—especially musical hats.

Welcome back, Project Runway!

Picture a big stack of plastic cups. Now, imagine what would happen if you cut them into pieces, ironed them and molded them into a dress. Daniel, one of the contestants in the new season of Project Runway, did precisely that, producing the polymerific, bluetacular sensation pictured here. (I can make up words too, Mr. President.)

Project Runway competitors design and create outfits each week in keeping with an assigned theme—with a limited amount of time and a shoestring budget. (Think Soapbox Derby, but with needle and thread.) Last week, contestants were herded into a grocery store and told to grab items (such as blue plastic cups) with which they would design and create a dress. Many of the contestants chose to work with, ho hum, tablecloths. But the more innovative went all out, filling their carts with lawn chairs, flyswatters, pasta, diapers, coffee filters, vacuum cleaner bags, mops, oven mitts, kale and tomatoes.

Jerry was the first contestant to get kicked off the show, after sending his model down the runway wearing a shower curtain and yellow dishwashing gloves. The judges' critique of the outfit? "It looks like something you'd wear if you were killing someone." Indeed.

P.S. I miss you Chris. Love, Henry.

Obama says his wife looks good doing it

George Michael doesn't look like this anymore

After the Lady of the House insisted that the man introduced as GM on the American Idol season finale Tuesday night was an impostor, I decided to do some investigating. It took only a few minutes of browsing the photos that popped up via Google Images to prove to her that she was sadly mistaken.

You see, the LOTH is stuck in 1983 and thinks GM couldn't possibly betray the days of Wham and, gasp, change his look. I mean, heck, Simon LeBon and that ghost-faced guy in Duran Duran still don't have a shellacked-hair out of place from the Reflex days, she whined.

Is it really so horrible to go from a crocheted Jacob's Coat-of-Many-Colors-esque sweater to a sharkskin suit? I wouldn't be caught dead on that 70s-era Sears pullover. (Max would love it though, if only to get his mincemeat-making claws in it. It's the only thing I know that would stop him from shredding the tulle skirt of the LOTH's wedding gown.)

Once she realized he has a new album and tour approaching, the LOTH did some googling of her own. (I mean, the song he performed on AI really wasn't that bad if you could forgive the over-emoting.) And she learned that Mr. Michael didn't really blend into oblivion after the 80s. In fact, Wikipedia claims that he is Britain's 10th richest musician. In between perennially falling asleep at the wheel in London traffic and seeking out more than toilet paper in public restrooms, he has produced a respectable amount of decent music (streaming-audio samples of which you can hear here).

The funniest part of this whole affair is that the MOTH was bewildered to learn that GM had this effect on the LOTH. I think it surprised even her. She said, I guess when you've danced to "Wake Me Up Before you Go Go" atop rickety tables in the study lounge at 3 a.m. when you should have been cramming for the all-important college exam, you don't forget easily the architect of that delirium. Could it be that the LOTH is not alone, and that GM is to other 40-something women what Rick Springfield is to grandmotherly generations and Tom Jones to great-grandmotherly generations? I guess we'll find out when the tour hits State-side.

Jason Cats-tro has likely never heard of T.S. Eliot

Some American Idol contestants have gone on to Broadway success, which is the only reason I can think of that dreadlocked Jason Castro would choose to sing "Memory" from Cats on Andrew Lloyd Webber night. He can barely sing, but he would save the guys in hair-and-makeup 50 percent of their time grooming Grizabella. That is if the Broadway show was ever resurrected (and we dearly hope it won't be). It was worth the hour we lost of our lives to see the look on ALW's face when AI's resident stoner announced his song choice. And from the look on Sir Andrew's face as he watched the show from the audience, we think he may have lifted some wacky tobaccy from Castro's purse before their mentoring session was over. Sometimes the pain is too much to bear without self-medicating.

One of the hawkeyes in the living room recognized Miss Betty Buckley in the house, which prompted her to share an anecdote from when she saw Cats on Broadway. Buckley's rendition of "Memory" was the high point of the overpriced affair, and during a moment of boredom, our ticket-holder stepped outside for a Salem Slim Light and was mistaken for a prostitute. At that point, she began to feel that wearing a pair of leopard-print spandex leggings to the event was a bad idea. Yet, she got a strange satisfaction out of being gawked at by a New Yorker. She felt she'd arrived.

All that said, Jason's performance outshone the other weakest singer in the final six, Nanny Brooke, who would never be mistaken for a lady of the night. She still proudly waves her "I've never seen an R-rated movie" flag (which is at least a tad more palatable than the erstwhile contestant Kristy Lee's Stars and Bars fixation).

We like Sayesha for the best performance. The red dress, the twins and her lively choreography may have saved her. We think Jason or Brooke will get the axe. Stay tuned.

Paula Abdul suffocates chihuahuas!

American Idol was barely under way Tuesday before the Madame and I started wagering on what Paula Abdul was concealing beneath her torturous bodice. Following Michael Johns' ear-shattering "glory notes" at the end of Aerosmith's "Dream On," Abdul announced: "I think my chihuahuas are going to come join you on stage." Yet, they never materialized! During the commercial break, the truth was discovered: the chihuahuas expired before they could be wrested free from the amalgam of boobs and taffeta. In order to preserve the integrity of Adbul's "cleavage," the dogs remained in situ until after the show, our sources confirmed.

The chihuahuas' next-of-kin could not be reached for comment. Charges are pending.

Fur is dead. Long live hair!

(If Wednesday night's episode of Project Runway is still parked on your TiVo, this is your official spoiler alert.)

Chris, a man after my own heart, showed tremendous humaneness in his use of HUMAN HAIR as the trim for his would-be, now-won't-be, Fashion Week designs. I think this one in particular was fabulous. But at least one person in this household worries that the skirt, fetching though it is, could conceivably be mistaken for an unkempt lady garden.

I only wish Chris had revealed the source of his raw material. I worry that Cher, Elvira and Ozzy Osbourne may have been herded up, thrown in the clink and shaved against their will.

This is why you should have one of those parental control thingies on your TV

Because I don't know how you would explain this to your children otherwise.

Now, I know you're thinking: Henry, you're being cruel. How do you know that this guy didn't get the gold chain from his girlfriend and the tie from his mother and promised them both that he'd wear her gift on TV? He was already in enough trouble for whatever it was that landed him in Judge Judy's courtroom.

We'll never know for sure. But he made his decision, and he'll have to live with it. Unfortunately, so will we.

Henry the Cat's Live Blog: Super Bowl XLII 2008

Click HERE to enter the Live Blog Arena.

Coverage has begun!!!

My pledge to you:

No fashion gaffe or inane utterance will escape my notice!

Public service announcement

I cannot believe I agreed to this, but here goes:

Today is National Wear Red Day. For the next 24 hours, you are ordered to cease and desist wearing fabric that is yellow, blue or green. I have donned this crimson cape as an example of how you might express yourself. If the superhero look is not for you, consider wearing a red tie, shoes, hat or well-appointed broach. Today's red-garment mandate is to raise awareness about women and heart disease. I'm not going to scare you with the grisly statistics. Suffice it to say that heart disease kills a lot of women (and some cats). If you're a woman, make sure you know your risk factors and the ways in which you can diminish them. You can find more information here. If you are a cat, talk to your veterinarian.

I only hope tomorrow is not National Wear Your Panties on Your Head Day.

"Wrist Strong" bracelets for cats! The time has come.

I ordered a Wrist Strong bracelet from The ColbertNation.com, only to discover that their "One Size Fits Most" does not apply to me. Some well-meaning person suggested that I wear it as a collar. And then she blurted out, "I mean necklace." Nice save. The queen of backpedaling then proceeded to whittle down the rubber to make a cat sized version. I think it's very fetching. But I do miss the inscription. I think Stephen Colbert is overlooking a huge market share.

Stay strong, wrist-compromised people (and cats) of the planet!

News Update: "Henry The Cat" will live-blog Super Bowl XLII's fashion faux pas and all things absurd

Due to the overwhelming response to Henry's Sports Dish™ Vol. I (readers from 48 states stopped by to check on Tom Coughlin's frostbite and to read my critique of the Fox commentators), I have realized there is an audience hungry for more of the same. Technology willing, I will be live-blogging Super Bowl XLII, commenting on fashion do's and don'ts and other inappropriate displays and utterings.

These are situations I'll be monitoring with particular interest:

• What, pray tell, will Archie Manning will be wearing? It is my hope that the man will put on a New York Giants shirt! I was aghast when I saw him sitting in the box at the Giants-Packers NFC championship game wearing an Ole Miss shirt. Was his Giants shirt in the laundry hamper? Is Eli Manning that much of a second-string son? Or is old Arch living in the past, making sure the world remembers from whence he came. Let's hope he doesn't yell out "Go, Rebels!" every time New York gets a first down.

• Based on average temperatures in Phoenix for this time of year, it will probably be around 60 degrees outside. But weather won't affect participants anyway, as the game at the University of Phoenix stadium will be played sous la roof. The lack of a chill will make the Fox analysts' headgear less interesting. But you never know what might turn up on Terry Bradshaw's head. Keep the faith, fashionistas.

• Because it won't be six-ways-from-Sunday cold, Tom Coughlin will not have frostbite. However, if he's been hanging out in the tanning bed with Rudy Giuliani this week, he might have a lovely case of raccoon eyes (did you see Mister 9/11 on the Florida campaign trail? Rudy, call your stylist, stat!). At the least, Coughlin might have a booger hanging out of his nose.

Obvious Pigskin Prognostication #1:

Pumpkinhead? Mousse. Lots and lots of mousse.

Fashion Wild Card:

Tom Petty.

Henry's Sports Dish, Vol. 1

All text ©2008, Henry's Sports Dish™

“Look Ian, she’s lying in my lap. She NEVER does that!” Yes, Carla, I was “resting” in your lap. Don’t get used to it. I’m not a lap cat. People are not beds. I stand on people. I walk across people. It's just that it was gonna be a long day of football, and you were in my seat.

I was most interested in the NFC championship, but I just had to watch the Chargers game beforehand. See, I love Ladainian Tomlinson. He has the best dimples in the NFL. And of course he’s a superb running back. But he also seems like a really nice kid. He loves his mama. He performs numerous acts of charity in the community. I think he might be Michael Vick’s (for lack of a better word) doppelganger. Ladainian is either really genuinely sweet, or he has a crackjack PR agent, unlike Vick, who doesn’t even have a stylist. If he did, he’d have nixed the facial hair and adopted at least a neutral expression on his way in and out of the courtroom. He looked really mean. He looked like a guy who not only kills dogs, but then hunts down their parents and grandparents and offs them too.

But I digress. The Chargers lost, predictably, to the superhuman Patriots (I hope it won't constitute a spoiler to inform you that Tom Brady is a robot). I had to keep watching, even after Ladainian was sidelined after only three plays. You never know, New England, cybernetically empowered as they are, could lose. And Paula Abdul could have a moment of lucidity. Keep hope alive, people!

Like lemmings, the Green Bay Packers followed San Diego over the the precipitous cliffs of Not-Going-to-the-Superbowl Mountain. But, as always, the Fox pregame show didn’t disappoint, thanks to the perennial asses pictured above. The Spice Boys kicked off the show by talking about the weather. To wit, it was -1 degrees F at Lambeau Field with a wind chill of 20 below.

"What happens in cold weather is things shrink," says Terry Bradshaw, giving a shoulder-butt to Curt Menefee. "He usually wears a 58 inch jacket but today he's wearing a 48."

Har, har.

Then Howie Long says:

"If you leave your dog outside for three hours in this kind of weather, they will lock you up for cruelty to animals."

(What a douchbag. Maybe if Howie had given counsel to Michael Vick years ago, things would have turned out differently for him: "Now Mike, if it’s Arctic cold outside, your dog can survive without shelter for two hours and 59 minutes, tops. Sixty seconds longer, and you’re up the river. Oh, and don’t strangle, shoot or drown them.")

Then Jimmy Johnson holds up a glass that he's just filled with water.

"Let's see how long it takes before it freezes!

(Oooooo. A magic trick. I'm rapt.)

The segment ends with everyone teasing Curt about his not wearing a hat.

Here's the way I think the championship-eve IM’ing played out on the Fox NFL Sunday's AOL Buddy List.

Howie:

OK guys, it’s going 2 B be cold 2morrow. Let’s B sure we don’t show up in the same hats.

And before anyone has a chance to type anything, he writes:

I call dibs on the trooper-trapper hat. No one else on the panel but me could rock one like Frances McDormand.

Then Jimmy screams:

I'M GONNA WEAR ONE OF THOSE CUTE HEADBAND-THINGIES THAT BILL BELICHICK ALWAYS WEARS.

Scrambling for traction, and to ensure that no one in the entire stadium will upstage him, Terry types:

I’m wearing a golf hat. On top of a doo-rag. Rock that, Howie.

To which Curt, left with a choice of a crocheted knit cap or wizard hat, replies:

Screw it. I’m going cranial-commando!

For the record, by the time they went to the first station break, Curt had his scarf wrapped around his jughead like a Russian peasant lady.

I think it’s about time the NFL had a fashion critic. I’d like to throw my fedora into the ring. I could be the sportsworld's equivalent of those chicks over at GoFugYourself.com.

By the way, guess who ended up with the knit cap?

Pam Oliver.