P. Diddy on Ashton Kutcher is worth reading if only for this part, "for a while, with Jamie Foxx, we were a rat pack, hanging out, going to clubs," which evokes some really spectacular nights out with that trio, until: "I remember one night he was with Demi, maybe for the first time, and a couple of weeks later he called to tell me he was in love. That was the end of our clubbing." Aw... Bros before hos, Ashton!
Anyways, Joss Whedon on Neil Patrick Harris is succinct and wonderful (presumably because he's one of the only professional writers writing these profiles), but the two best entries come from the Artists section's most literal pairings.
Shepard Fairey writes about Banksy quite thoughtfully, and without the little daubs of queasy-making self-promotion that many of the others deploy. The last paragraph is great, even if you don't agree with Shep's very positive evaluation of the British street artist's practice:
Banksy's work embodies everything I like about art. It's accessible, public, not locked away. He makes social and political statements with a sense of humor. His latest exploit is Exit Through the Gift Shop, a film about a filmmaker who left off making a film about Banksy to become an art star himself. It sums up the art world perfectly — the authentic intertwined with the absurd.
I did an interview with her once, and she showed up with a sculpture on her head. I thought, How awesome. Being around her, I felt like the dust was shaken off of me. I find it very comforting to sit next to somebody and not have to worry that I look like the freak. She isn't a pop act, she is a performance artist. She herself is the art. She is the sculpture.