"...They weren't like production stills with theatrical lighting on a set, and they weren't like headshots, which are sort of an aggrandized version of what the actor looks like. They were outside in a place that was unidentifiable, in this period clothing. They looked like real people. They looked like fictional characters come to life."

Fictional characters come to life? Swoon.

© Amy Arbus

Him: Well, there is an herb I take to erase my memory. Does that help? What in G-d's name do you want to remember? What is there left to focus and concentrate upon (other than the many manifestations of Jah?) My experience has been that for concentration, memory, focus it isn't about what you take but what you don't take.

Me: Great. I'm FUCKED.

Him: This should clear things up:

And we just got here."

—from my friend Louie (he's got a book!) to his friend Caitlin.

Also. Here is the best email I've ever received, just sent last week, which actually was for me:

"I told him about you and I seriously think he got a boner."

Awesome.

I'm writing. I'm making art and plans. I'm practicing all these things. I'm overwhelmed, but I have systems. Not really certain what the systems are, though. I've been trying to pave a road before following it because I can't help but almost always think that's the way you're supposed to do things—strategies and outlines and planning, planning, planning—and also that I'm too old for it to be okay to fly blind. Certainly it can't be safe or smart. But then I remember (and then I forget again and have to remind myself again, repeatedly, trying to get through like a soft drill in my head) that sometimes you can only see one little step ahead of you at a time and so then that's just the step you take.

"Shamelessness is a feature of contemporary life; it visibly afflicts the celebrity and the wannabe celebrity, but it also informs and liberates the artist. For the [Charlotte] Rampling shoot, which was done in a Paris hotel suite, [Juergen] Teller thought it made sense for him to be in the [Marc Jacobs] ads, since he and the actress were friends and she didn't want to endorse a product. And because he vaguely had in mind a fantasy, he also packed on 15 extra pounds. 'I thought I should be this Louis XV big figure,' he said.

The only trouble with that plan was he couldn't fit into the clothes Mr. Jacobs sent. 'I thought, "What the hell am I going to do now?" he said. 'There were these silver underpants, these sport pants.' Mr. Teller laughed and continued: 'The next day Charlotte arrived, and I was totally starting to sweat. She said, "Now what are we going to do?" I said, "I'm going to show you what I'm going to wear." So I went into the bedroom, and I came out in these silver underpants. And she said, "What the hell is that?"'

At this point, as Ms. Rampling howled, Mr. Teller said, he was having grave doubts about the rest of his plan. 'I was smoking my cigarette, breaking out in a sweat. I said, 'Well, I was just thinking I could kiss you and fondle your breasts.'

'She sat down and got herself a cigarillo. She didn't say anything. The whole room was quiet for what seemed like months. I was, like, Oh my God, that is the most stupid thing I've ever said, how stupid was that? She just dragged on the cigarillo and crossed her legs, and she said: "O.K., let's go. I'll tell you when to stop." I thought, Oh my God, genius. I can't believe I'm getting away with it.'

Mr. Teller paused. 'So that was the ad.'"

See also: The best photo of Victoria Beckham I've ever seen/could actually stand to look at for five seconds without my eyeballs melting.

I sat at my desk in front of a word processor in a silent, windowless hallway outside of the hippie social worker's office. When a new call came in, which was rare, I had to label the caller with a Mental Problem, based on a few scripted questions, my zero expertise, and by using the overwhelming gloom in the DSM. (To make matters worse, it was also suggested that I try to determine the ethnicity of the caller, but without actually asking them about their ethnic background. My boss, the M.S.W., assured me, "Usually, you can just tell." )

I don't think I need to tell you that it wasn't long before I had diagnosed myself with 70% of the mental illnesses listed in the DSM. You read the description of a disorder and you shrug it off. Then you read the symptoms associated with the disorder, and you're like, "Oh, shit." You have everything.

Sometimes I think that headcleaners want to turn everything into an official diagnosis, and in some cases I often wonder which came first - the declaration of the disorder as a major problem in need of treatment or thousands of people certain that they have it. Which is not to say the problem isn't real, just that if I constantly feel fidgety every time I sit down, for example, am I just overly un-still because of anxiety due to unresolved stuff I need to figure out how to figure out, or do I take TV commercial-prescribed meds and find a national network of fidgety people, start a movement, and apply for disability. In any event, if I didn't think I had everything a decade ago—before email everywhere, and texting, and YouTube, and Wikipedia, and Facebook, and Flickr, and blogging (when I blogged more), and (do not even get me started on) Scrabulous and Surf The Channel —I certainly do now. A shrink in PDX wants to add internet addiction to the (un)healthy mix.

I miss the days when everyone was worried about herpes of the mouth and too much time spent playing Space Invaders at the arcade. Question: What about the people whose livelihood depends on the internets? Question: Will they have online support groups for this?

Did you watch Rock of Love last night? Here's a question I have: who was the fat dude with glasses who was given the title "Amber's friend"? I thought all of the dudes were supposed to be the girls' exes. So was that guy a friend or an ex? If he was a friend, where was her ex? Does she have an ex? Because there's something sort of overdriven and asexual-cheerleader about Amber, and so I wouldn't be surprised if she's never actually had a relationship. If this dude was an ex and not just a friend, what the hell? He looked like Michael Moore in a hawaiian shirt. Just some things to think about in your free time.

This vid had all the elements of the best narrative-driven music videos of the day: Lip syncing, big pointing, lines of coke, the shattered glass of a broken mirror, a windswept blond, fog machine, domestic violence, skinny microphone, cut-off sleeves, signing contracts in blood, tears streaming down blond's face during coerced sex by greasy fat agent guy, mustache glasses, superimposed faces, faux behind-the-scenes scenes, latex masks, and the rock star playing dual role as a reporter with "Scoop" hat and as [REDACTED! SPOILER!].

Though the video has nothing to do with guys in tights rolling around on the floor with other guys and talking about their hard-ons with their creepy high school coach, let us never forget that this was the video for a song that was featured in the Matthew Modine wrestling movie Vision Quest, which also starred a drag queen as Linda Fiorentino. Vision Quest is one of the gayest movies I've ever seen. It was kind of a prequel to the first Jackass movie.