Memoirs … like the corners of my mind.  Misty water-colored memoirs … of the way you used-to-be-before-drugs-and/or-coming-out-and/or-anorexia.

Well, it was a stellar week for celeb bios.  Keith Richard who turned 104 this year released his aptly titled Life.   Chapters included … “How Did I Turn In To A Raisin?” and “So What If I Snorted My Dad’s Ashes?  MYOB!”  The Rolling Stoner is currently sitting at #1 for the second week on the NY Times Bestseller list.  That means a lot of people are waxing nostalgic about the world’s oldest guitar player.

Ricky Martin also released his autobiography Me last week.  Chapters ranged from “I Put the ‘Men’ in Menudo” to “Gay or Straight … I’m Still Hotter Than You.”  He got a whole hour on Oprah to promote it too.  And promote he did.  Cameras followed him around playing with his adorable twins and showing off his lavish digs.  Oprah was as polite as she could be during the interview.  My favorite part?  When she said, “So you lied to Barbara Walters, huh?  Way to go.  I hate her too.”  Or something like that.  I may have paraphrased.   Martin is an affable, likeable fellow, who happens to be hotter than bacon grease.  So what if he’s gay.  I’m just glad he’s comfortable enough in his own celebrity skin to be a gay role model … or adoptive father role model … or Latin heartthrob role model.

Portia De Rossi unleashed Unbearable Lightness last week too.  She too appeared on Oprah and talked about her battle with anorexia and dating Ricky Martin, er, lesbian tendencies.  She yammered on about how much pressure there was to be rail-thin during her years on Ally McBeal.  Well, of course there was, dear.  Calista Flockhart weighed 42lbs.   Maybe that’s why it includes chapters like “I’m Gonna Punch Calista Flockhart in the Throat” and “I’m Still Thin and Pretty … Just Not TOO Thin, Dammit!”

De Rossi’s book is probably the most teen angst-y of the three books.  When she’s reliving the horrors of being 82lbs., you feel for her.   She paints a picture of wolfing down a few spoonfuls of mashed potatoes one day and then running back and forth (in full hair and make-up no less) in a parking lot to burn it off.   As if that weren’t bad enough, she also discovered she was gay.  The entire book is cathartic … and yet still feels like light popcorn reading.  De Rossi’s book debuted at #3 on the charts.  Ricky, meanwhile, languishes in 5^th place.

What was the last memoir you read?  Mine was Delta Burke’s Eve Wasn’t A Size 6 and Neither Am I.  I really need to get out more.