Grace Jones

Her memoir (I’ll Never Write My Memoirs) is already Rec League; GJ will be, like, halfway through the story of being Andy Warhol’s date to Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver’s wedding and then spin off into where in various world capitals one should buy 1,000-piece Ravensburger puzzles (no substitutes will do; in Paris it’s Galeries Lafayette, btw). She’s been carried into her own birthday party in a coffin. When I saw her perform last summer she took off her pants and hula hooped through “Slave to the Rhythm.” She is this universe’s equivalent of the Bene Gesserit Voice and I AM DEEPLY INVESTED IN HER RECS.