Prince in His Natural Environment

In this week's issue of The New Yorker, perhaps the greatest Talk of the Town piece of all time . . . a visit to the home of Prince. The description of the place includes these two sentences, which are no less awesome for being unsurprising:

Candles scented the air, and New Age music played in the living room, where a TV screen showed images of bearded men playing flutes.

In the living room, he’d installed purple thrones on either side of a fireplace, and, nearby, along a hallway, he had hung photographs of himself, in a Moroccan villa, in various states of undress.

But even better: As a Jehovah's Witness, "(Prince) leaves his gated community from time to time to knock on doors and proselytize."

What?? Having Prince show up at my door to talk about Jehovah might be the only waking circumstance in which you could not possibly convince me I wasn't dreaming. Also, just imagine ignoring your doorbell because you know it's those Jehovah's Witnesses, and then someone tells you later, "Oh, by the way, that was Prince." How could you ever live that down?