<p>I AM ANGRY that in “Winona Among the Grown-ups” (November, 1992) Michael Hirschorn referred to Winona Ryder as “a fabulous babe” and “cool chick.” With these stereotypes and negative labels, and by focusing on Ms. Ryder’s “frail slimness” rather than on the accomplishments of her career, he did a disservice to both her and your readers.</p>
<p>THIS MONTH, as we begin to celebrate the magazine’s sixtieth anniversary, we say farewell to one Esquire logo and welcome another. Our previous logo—a Rubenesque little number that, according to Esquire design consultant Roger Black, “was beginning to resemble the old chrome on a Rambler”—was introduced in 1980.</p>
The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.
NOW THAT THERE'S a relatively young president in the White House, the future looks shiny, even promising. Yet at the same time an uneasiness lingers because Bill Clinton is more or less our age (i. e., not a real grownup, or at least not old), and we know what we are like.
AT FIRST, they didn’t let Charlie Rose use the table, the nicked and grainy round table that is the center of his television show. Tables, industry wisdom held, inhibit conversation. But after three weeks of couches, Rose got his way. He shopped the Village and SoHo, even tried to buy an Arts and Crafts specimen off Jann Wenner, before he found a properly sturdy and shopworn model.
<p>In the beginning, God created Butter. God saw that it was bad, and God said, “Let there be Lite.” God called upon the food scientists to create a polyunsaturated spread in Butter’s own image. God called the spread Margarine.</p>
<p>SHORTLY AFTER THE DEFEAT of Michael Dukakis in 1988, the former Democratic party boss Robert Strauss looked back on three consecutive presidential losses and saw a distressing pattern: Jimmy Carter had been too gentle, Walter Mondale had been too bland, and Dukakis had been too passive.</p>
<p>A NEW COMPANY, Ecosport, has come out with a line of underwear (brief, boxer, long-winter) and T-shirts so naturally wholesome you could add milk and have them for breakfast. The cotton comes in God’s own two colors—white and brown. It’s organically grown (no pesticides) and then washed with a citron scour (no bleach).</p>
<p>TWO THINGS you should know about the winter air in Santa Fe (elevation 6,950 feet): There’s not much of it, and what there is has the sweet smell of meats cooked over piñon and mesquite. By the time you catch your breath, you’ll be ravenous. Not so long ago, Santa Fe’s dining scene was part burritos and margaritas, part dreary Continental cuisine.</p>
<p>THE SPIRAL is the shape that hypnotizes, and it has hypnotized the design world. Spirals are showing up in art and in artifact, in clothing, furniture, and graphics. This ancient shape suddenly seems to be the design of the times— a comment on some current state of affairs.</p>
<p>THE PLACE: Seattle, Washington, storied home of grunge rock and the espresso cart, where one is rarely more than fifteen minutes from a body of water. To wit: Lake Union, one mile north of the central business district and keeper of one of the region’s most enduring traditions—the floating home.</p>
<p>A modern house in Mallard Cove. Co-op moorage. Two bedrooms, one and a half baths, view deck on roof with hot tub. Owned dock (1,225 square feet) with attached private boat slip; two-car parking onshore. Asking: $399,000. Expect $1,600 yearly floating-home tax plus maintenance.</p>
<p>ON A RECENT LONGISH TRIP TO LOS ANGELES—where the raw meat was thrown on the floor and I was left sucking the mop, a vilely mixed but accurate metaphor—it occurred to me that when one is utterly cornered and snapping at one’s entrails like a fatally wounded coyote, about the best thing to do is read a book.</p>
<p>IT MUST HAVE ALL COME BACK AGAIN to George Herbert Walker Bush as he girded himself for President Clinton’s inauguration. Who would have thought Bush and I had much in common? But there it (he) is: Retired Air Force Major General Richard V. Secord.</p>
<p>YEARS AGO, practicing participatory journalism, I made a halfhearted attempt to join a rock group as a tambourine thumper or whatever, to get a brief sense of what that world was about: the travel, the fans, what it was like to gyrate on the stage with a sea of faces out front … Three Dog Night, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones. The Grateful Dead—Jerry Garcia, Bob Weir, Pigpen, et al.—were on the list. </p>
WELL, WE'RE STILL ALIVE, I guess. But don’t believe all you read in the papers about business maturely coming to terms with the new populist agenda and all. This whole Morning in America thing hasn’t been easy on us. Around here, I won’t lie to you, it’s been grim.
SHORTLY BEFORE 4:00 A.M. on a black September morning, an unmarked brown Dodge van raced through the Fort Apache section of the South Bronx. It turned onto Intervale Avenue, then jerked to a stop in front of a five-story tenement indistinguishable from the other firetraps in the neighborhood.
HUNTER IN LOUISVILLE, IN JAIL, IN THE AIR FORCE, IN THE STRIPPERS’ TENT, IN SPIRITUAL ERROR, IN A POOLSIDE BRAWL, INTOXICATED, IN BRAZIL, IN SIN, AND IN LOVE.
E. JEAN CARROLL
<p>COMMONWEALTH OF KENTUCKY; BUREAU OF VITAL STATISTICS; CERTIFICATE OF BIRTH FULL NAME OF CHILD: Hunter Stockton Thompson. PLACE OF BIRTH: Norton Infirmary, Louisville, Kentucky. SEX: Male, LEGITIMATE? Yes. FULL-TERM? Yes. DATE OF BIRTH: July 18,1937.</p>
The wild girl of the Eighties now appears to be quite a mature, health-conscious single mom. Fortunately, Debra Winger still has one very appealing vice left
<p>ALTHOUGH THE ACTRESS STILL LOOKS YOUNG ENOUGH TO PLAY WONDER WOMAN’S KID SISTER OR THE BEST PAL A MECHANICAL BULL EVER HAD, SHE’S SO DRAWN WHEN SHE WALKS INTO THE I LOVE JUICY CAFE IN VENICE, CALIFORNIA, you’d swear she’d spent the night in King Tut’s tomb.</p>
<p>GOLF IN ARKANSAS, a devotee of the game from Little Rock tells me, is, like hunting, “kind of sacrosanct.” The betting games are named for animals. The white boys play wolf. The handful of blacks who golf here play rabbit and squirrel. There’s a local type of mulligan known as the Eddie Don, which has to be teed up or on the ground before your mishit stops rolling.</p>
He walked away from the presidency of Czechoslovakia when he couldn’t prevent the country from splitting apart. Now, after a season of deliberation in the grotty basement bars of Prague, he wants to be president again. The question is: Of what?
<p>THE ROCK CLUB BUNKR, on Lodecká in central Prague, is a long, lowslung concrete room with a little stage down front. It was in fact a government bomb shelter before 1989’s Velvet Revolution, but the end of the Cold War and an investment of $1 million transformed it into a hip, urine-soaked juke joint selling half liters of Staropramen beer for about a dollar and bowls of greasy goulash for about forty cents.</p>
The streets were just as mean for Riddick Bowe as they were for Mike Tyson. But that’s where the two part company
<p>HE STOOD AT the end of Maher Drive in Fort Washington, Maryland, his huge boxing hands pointing all over the empty lot, quick and busy as jabs. “This is my property,” he said. There was nothing to see, really, just red ribbons attached to trees, marking the start of the five acres he had bought before he beat Evander Holyfield to become the heavyweight champion of the world.</p>
Why the tenth round of the Holyfield-Bowe fight was one of the greatest ever
<p>THE HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION of the world is like no other athlete. Even those who loathe the sport know his name. The mystique gives him the glow of Hercules and Terminator and Popeye combined. The premise is that he could beat up anybody on the planet.</p>
Is Tim Russert the Smartest Man in Network News or Just the Best Politician in Washington?
<p>LATE ONE MONDAY NIGHT the telephone rang. “Hi, I heard you are doing a profile of Tim Russert and I can tell you why you are having a hard time.” (Am I having a hard time?) ¶ “Who is this?” ¶ “Let’s just say I know this bureau. I can give you leads, people you would never run across yourself.”</p>
The father hawked illegal arms; the son sold rock ’n’ roll. From prep School in New England to drawing rooms in Europe, they fought each other over manners, politics, and the same woman. Sometimes a son can please his father only by betraying him
<p>WILL SAVAGE AND I were thrown together as juniors at prep school, late arrivals to the class of ’68, strangers to a cold New England campus warmly remembered by a dozen generations of American plutocrats. Although our new school was just twenty miles from my home and a thousand miles from his, I’d traveled much farther than Will; he was the seventh Savage to matriculate, and the observatory bore the name of his maternal grandfather.</p>
WHEN CALVIN Klein was starting out, he pushed a rack of clothing up to Bonwit Teller just to get someone to look at it. These days a young designer may have it even tougher—mainly because, and you may have noticed this already, the economy isn’t so great.
NO DOUBT Bill Clinton has more important things to think about than fashion. But somehow matters of style and substance seem to converge in discussions of the new President, the first to come of age during the 1960s and the first since John F. Kennedy to excite hopes of a distinctive new style of governing.
Man At His Best, page 22: Ecosport boxers ($14) and briefs ($8) at Green Life, New York; Earth Sake, Berkeley, Calif.; How on Earth, Santa Fe. For information call 800-486-4326. Coming on Strong, page 119: Dirk Bikkembergs vest ($250), trousers ($320), and boots ($386) at Untitled, New York; Alain Bilzerian, Boston; Les Habitudes, Los Angeles.