John, John, John.

I love your self-effacing humor, your bouts with anxiety, your hideous sunglasses, your obsession with expensive watches. Your attempts at stand-up amuse me. I can even deal with your tattoo sleeve.

But good God man. What's going on with this DVD? The camera angles: queasy; the intermittent interview segments, rough going. Driving in your Mercedes with your tiny dog. Really? A TELEPROMPTER? I mean, come on. You can remember your own lyrics.

If you find yourself saying "my music is necessary," it's time to turn off the cameras, pack up the two-rock, and regroup.

We'll let this misstep slide. It happens to the best of us. Just had to check you on this.