Okay, here’s a little game I call “How Do I Feel About That?” I tried it last night with my friend Jessica, and it seemed to go over well, so we’ll play it together today. It’s kind of a role-playing game, but I don’t have to call you “M’lord” or “M’lady.” Ready?

Dig if you will the picture. You’re a tall, gawky teen. Maybe people don’t call you pretty, or they make fun of your horse face. Then you get a little bit older, and French people find you amazing. They want to take your picture. You let them. Then they pay you. Then more people want to take your picture. You get a good agent. A portfolio. You’re suddenly walking down catwalks and runways and you get really cool clothes for free. You pay off all of your loans, and buy your parents a house. You’re set. You’re loaded. You’re a model.

Then maybe, back in the states, you meet a man, an actor, and he becomes your husband. You take his name with a hyphen. This bothers nobody, and you still get to do just as much work as before. In fact, now you’re even venturing into acting. You get a role here and there. You get to play Ross’ girlfriend on Friends for an episode. Things are pretty damn cool. You’re a favorite on talk shows, including Howard Stern, and you don’t mind talking about all the drugs you and your C-list actor husband take. You have no problem taking your clothes off. MTV loves you. You host episodes of their style show.

Then you take on more roles, and someone thinks you can play a lead in a movie. Despite all of the horrible reviews of everything you’ve ever done, you keep on acting. Why? Well, you’re perky and pretty, and the word “Super” is the first word in your job description. You’re super. Why shouldn’t you be allowed to star in movies? With LL Cool J? Or movies about comic books? Or lesbian film noirs? Why not? You’re super.

But there’s been one cover that eludes you. You haven’t ever been alone on the front of this magazine. You’ve worked hard, everybody knows your name, you’ve been working in this business for about twenty years. Then one day, you get the call. You got the cover. You did it. You’re a star, an official movie star.

So. Are you ready, m’lady? (Sorry. Sorry. Got carried away). Now:

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