I went to bed not knowing what was going on with Lady Gaga and R Kelly last night. I woke up still not knowing. Was it carry-over from Saturday Night Live? A lost sketch repurposed for the AMAs? Am I jet-lagged from New York even though it’s the same time zone? Did I shop my brain away? Am I too deliriously in love with my new coat? It’s a great coat, don’t you think? You know why? It’s roomy but not baggy.

The point is…

I’m not arty enough to figure out all the messages Gaga tried to jam into my eyes. Somewhere in there was a note about the JFK anniversary. OK. But… “Who put these pictures on Instagram?” Why is the President checking Instagram while home video images of a young Gaga play on the screens? Is it because R Kelly is allegedly a pedo? And what does that have to do with the internet calling her fat?


And yet… I didn’t hate it. I don’t understand it, but I didn’t hate it. There was an adorable energy to Gaga that I saw on SNL last week that carried over at the AMAs. Like an amateur performing her heart out at a talent contest. She can barely dance. Her acting is suspect. And… it’s endearing, sort of, non? Then, the audience’s silence at the end just put it on another level.