You could go church and you could describe your worst behavior, your worst self, and despite your worst behavior you would be forgiven and then redeemed and then accepted back into the community through communion. So you didn't have to carry this burden your entire life. Once a week you went someplace you went someplace where you could really look terrible and be loved despite how terrible you were.

Imagine a plague you catch through your ears.

you're doomed at being you.

If Marilyn Monroe was alive right now, what would she be doing?' Clawing at the roof of her coffin.

The photographer in my head says: Give me peace. Flash. Give me release. Flash.

I know that when a supersexy older girl with hips and breasts and nice hair wants to take off your glasses and to paint you a smoky eye she's merely trying to enroll you in a beauty contest she's already won. It's a kind of slummy, condescending gesture, like when rich people ask poor people where they summer. To me, this smacks of a blatant, insensitive "let them eat cake" type of chauvinism.

Everything is funnier in retrospect, funnier and prettier and cooler. You can laugh at anything from far enough away.