YOUR STORY “LOLITA COMES AGAIN,” by Elizabeth Kaye (February), was very informative. Jeremy Irons is perfect for the role of Humbert Humbert. He gets roles like this mainly because he is the only actor in Hollywood who can deliver them the way they were meant to be.
WHEN YOU THINK OF ending a marriage, “happily ever after” is not exactly the first phrase that comes to mind. But that is clearly the picture that emerges from senior writer John Taylor’s profoundly personal essay, “Divorce Is Good for You” (page 52), which chronicles the breakup of his twelve-year marriage and takes the onus off those who suddenly find themselves part of the “divorce culture.”
Bill Clinton AND Al Gore MAY not have been the only ones in Washington who were willing to accept money from Asia. Dick Morris, the president’s exߞchief strategist, claimed that he was getting $1 million for appearing on Chinese television, according to his former paid consort, Sherry Rowlands.
DEPOSED DISNEY PRESIDENT Mike Ovitz MIGHT BE getting into a whole new ball game. A source says that the former head of Creative Artists Agency is talking to Nike boss Phil Knight about a joint venture that would involve buying the Los Angeles Coliseum and, possibly, a football team.
DATELINE NBC'S Stone Phillips has been the butt of jokes because of his AI Gore— like charisma, and now he’s the subject of an office butt joke. Phillips recently received an of-color note via the office computer message system that complimented him on his fine derriere.
WHEN WALL STREET financier Dick Jenrette had a problem in the boardroom, he sometimes turned to the stars for guidance. Jenrette, the former head of the Equitable and one of the founding partners of Donaldson, Lufkin & Jenrette, is a devotee of astrology and has used the star signs for management guidance, says a source who has seen an advance copy of his forthcoming memoir, Jenrette:
Sarah Ferguson IS GETTING PAID BY Weight Watchers to slim down, and now she is also getting a generous offer to show off that hot new body. Playboy says it approached Fergie’s representatives about her posing for the magazine. A spokesman for the duchess vehemently denies the story, calling it “absolutely 100 percent untrue.”
SOME READERS OF The Wall Street Journal were startled to read a recent op-ed piece arguing that male homosexuality can be cured. “The disorder is characterized by a constellation of symptoms,” according to the article, “including excessive clinging to the mother during early childhood, a sense that one’s masculinity is defective, and powerful feelings of guilt, shame, and inferiority beginning in adolescence.”
EYES WIDE SHUT IS A remarkably apt title for Stanley Kubrick’s new film. The director of 2001: A Space Odyssey and The Shining has a reputation for being secretive about his projects, but some Hollywood insiders are saying that he has gone to bizarre lengths with this project, his first since 1987.
AS EXECUTIVE EDITOR of The Washington Post, Len Downie has gotten into some difficult positions. But a recent episode had even the most jaded journalists stunned: Downie stood on his head in the newsroom. “He did it while several amazed editors looked on,” says one insider at the paper.
Thomas Hoving, FORMER head of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, is writing an unauthorized book about tobacco heiress Doris Duke—and a source familiar with the work says Hoving believes that he can prove Duke was murdered. The source says that Hoving spoke extensively with Dr. Harry Demopoulos, Duke’s former personal physician.
EVERY TIME WE'RE AT THE PUTT -AMP;AMP; BUNT TO take a few cuts, there’s some twelve-year-old kid chewing grape Bubble Yum like it’s Red Man and hogging the cage for the next million tokens. And he’s better than us. A lot. Fortunately, there are at-home, portable, and affordable options—from building your own sixty-foot cage armed with a machine that can hurl hundred-mile-per-hour left-handed split-fingered fastballs to putting a Wiffle-ball machine in your basement to hone hand-eye coordination.
JULIANNE MOORE, THE breezy redhead with the radiant smile and the skim-milk complexion, used to collect balls—giant rubber gym balls, standard plastic beach balls, small, fuzzy tennis balls. In pairs? “No, no, no, no,” she says, laughing.
A GENERATION AGO, there was nothing hipper on the American road than the Chevrolet El Camino and the Ford Ranchero— half-truck, half-car hybrids that wore the dash of big western belt buckles and flaunted the boisterous taste of a good chimichanga.
SUED: KewsHour with Jim Lehrer, by Richard Jewell. PBS’s arguments that The NewsHour never reported Jewell’s supposed guilt in the Olympic Park bombing didn’t impress Jewell’s attorneys or Jewell himself, who told reporters that if PBS refuses to settle, news anchor Lehrer will “find a backpack in his wastebasket.”
I HAVE HEARD CHICAGO described as “America’s largest habitable city.” But only by Chicagoans, to be sure. We are tireless civic boosters, perhaps because of the Second City complex bestowed upon us by A. J. Liebling before we slipped into third place.
IT’S NOT THE KIND OF DEVICE YOU’D WANT TO USE TO SEND or receive the entire text of Beowulf, since the screen displays only three lines at a time. Still, the AT&T PocketNet cell phone (below) boasts e-mail and Web-browsing ability, and it works fine for messages you need to transmit on the go, like “It’s over” or “I love you!”
IT TAKES HOURS, IT’S mentally exhausting, and it’s addictive. It’ll suck up more of your time and energy than cyberporn or system crashes. I’m talking about Scrabble on the Net. Go to any one of several Web sites that have sprung up in recent months and pick up a game with some indolent wirehead looking for action.
What a few of our favorite cultural figures are up to
MICHAEL J. AGOVINO
Peter Greenaway: Exhibiting “Flying over Water: The Icarus Adventure,” which deconstructs the myth “in an ironic, contemporary way,” at the Joan Miró Foundation in Barcelona; also, finishing the libretto for an opera called One Hundred Objects to Represent the World, with electronic voices and music, which will open in Salzburg, Austria.
EVERY SENSIBLE MAN should include among his pals a bartender, a wine seller, a butcher, a weekend gardener (the kind who says, apologetically, “Can you possibly use twenty pounds of ripe tomatoes?”), and a chef. Make that two chefs: one from any culture and one Chinese.
BECAUSE IT HAS NEVER BEEN MORE FASHIONABLE TO BE SUITABLY PROTECTED, Carter-Wallace, Inc., the proud maker of Trojan condoms, has introduced a line of casual wear (T-shirts and baseball caps) and plans to expand to workout gear and boxers emblazoned with the Trojan logo and the names of specific Trojan condoms.
BIG FOCUS: The grown-up toy most coveted by photo buffs is the Contax AX camera, notable for autofocusing not through the lens but by minutely adjusting the plane of the film inside the camera itself. Serious photographers consider this not only more elegant but also a boon to loyal owners of existing Contax lenses, which can be attached to the new body, something that is obviously impossible with lens-based autofocusers.
HE LOOKS AS IF HE'S just soared out of a Romare Bearden collage, dressed to the nines, coat and tie, hat just so. Sure, Nicholas Payton, the twenty-three-year-old trumpeter, may be an anachronism to some. But listen to how he reinvents the standards.
BEING THE MOM OF the biggest-selling fourteen-year-old country singer ever isn’t the easiest thing in the world, reports Belinda Rimes from her new home in Garland, Texas. “Nothing’s easy when it comes out of nowhere,” says Belinda, mother of LeAnn Rimes, whose remarkable Grammy-winning CD, Blue, has been number one on the country charts for the better part of a year.
DESPITE MONTREAL'S Gallic protests to the contrary, it is Toron-to that has emerged as Canada’s gastronomic capital, with far more diversity and modernism in its restaurants than in those of the French-speaking city. Toronto is like Boston with breathing room—fine architecture, broad avenues, civilized amount of greenery (when not buried in snow), and an array of ethnic restaurants that reflects the city’s current multiculturalism.
They may be the best team of all time, but they’re sure no fun to root for
THE GUYS IN THE SUITS, THE nervous Official Women, have lost control of the lobby of the Plaza Hotel, and they know it. This is usually the beginning of Sunday elegance at the Plaza: 9:45 in the morning, the tables in the Palm Court already filled with a well-turned-out brunch crowd.
Blood and guts and violence and why we love (and hate) seeing it
IF YOU LIVE IN THE DARK, YOU have an instinct for when the gotchas are coming. You can feel the movie getting aroused. You know you have a serious chance of seeing something terrific, or something you’d rather not see—like the dawdling, merciless preamble to ear removal in Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs or the pulping and live burial of Joe Pesci in Casino or even the blitzing of the White House (another Clinton deal?) in Independence Day.
Unless you and your broker are codependent, you owe it to yourself to read this piece
SUPPOSE THAT, SITTING AT home, you could research stock investments based on the kind of high-quality, up-to-the-minute information that your broker uses. Imagine that you could manage your portfolio right there at your desk, buying and selling stocks at favorable prices within seconds.
<p>“WE HAVE TO SEPARATE,” MY WIFE TOLD ME. IT WAS A LATE-SUMMER EVENING TWO YEARS AGO. WE were drinking gin and tonics and smoking cigarettes, an entitlement of marital stress, and watching the setting sun cast rose-colored shadows across the Victorian elementary school we could see from the back of our house.</p>
<p>WE HAVE TO SEPARATE,” I told my husband. Much as I found the prospect daunting, if not terrifying, it seemed that inertia had set in in our relationship. After twelve years, most of the time we were like strangers living under the same roof. I felt ignored and unloved, rejected and frustrated.</p>
To win millions (yes, millions) at blackjack, you need to-learn the secrets of the Hammer: an intricate team-betting strategy featuring card counting, shuffle tracking, hand signals, and, if you can swing it, the occasional cameo by Emilio Estevez. Here’s the deal. . .
FAMILY IS EVERYTHING. I AM USING THESE WORDS as a calming mantra to keep the adrenaline from spurting through my eyeballs. It’s Super Bowl weekend, I have $20,000 snuggled in my jacket pocket, and we’re heading toward the casino we’ve picked to hit.
HOW DO YOU GO FROM LIFE AS A WIDELY HATED, SCHEMING RIGHT-WING GOLD DIGGER WITH A FUNNY ACCENT—THE LADY MACBETH OF THE REPUBLICAN PARTY—TO BEING THE LOVABLE STAR OF A HIP POLITICAL-COMEDY SHOW WITH YOUR OWN DEVELOPMENT DEAL?
JONATHAN VAN METER
<p>Within minutes of first finding myself in the company of Arianna Stassinopoulos Huffington, I am holding doors, fetching cocktails, managing directions for her driver, filling out vouchers, and being generally chivalrous and useful at every turn.</p>
By hanging himself from a rope fourteen stories above downtown Chicago, mystery novelist Eugene Izzi finally found the perfect ending
<p>Eugene Izzi, a Chicago crime novelist
of modest fame, tried to get away with murder—his own. He was a powerfully built man, six feet tall and two hundred pounds, with thick, dark hair, a prominent nose, piercing eyes, and an intensity that electrified some people and intimidated others. </p>
If you’re an innocent abroad, you may find yourself enchanted by a treacherous charmer. And on a train to heartbreak.
THAT YEAR THE PLACE WE WOULD GO AFTER hours was the Hotel Eden. It had a cozy little bar in the parlor with three tiny tables and four stools at the counter. You had to walk sideways to get around, and it had a low ceiling and thick old carpets, but it had a roomy feeling and it became absolutely grand when Porter was there.
Hundred-mile-an-hour winds, seventy-foot waves, and a copter out of fuel. Then things got bad.
IT WAS AS IF THEIR HELICOPTER HAD SLAMMED INTO A mountainside. One minute, they were pounding home through the darkness; the next, they’d been blown practically to a stop. Flight manuals ricocheted around the cabin, and the five crewmen were thrown against the ceiling and then back down into their seats.
TO YOUR HEALTH: How to stay fit, sane, and on top of your game
ALTHOUGH I, OF COURSE, ALWAYS TRIED TO REFRAIN from doing so, there was a time when you could judge a man by the size of his sweet spot. It was 1980, and the radical new oversize Prince rackets invented by Howard Head looked bloated and goofy, like tight-assed butterfly nets.
A FRIEND OF MINE, A BIG-SHOT EDITOR at a prestigious publishing house, skulked back from her accountant’s the other day after suffering her annual humiliation: revealing that she still squirrels her money away in a passbook savings account.
YOU CAN'T KNOW—OR, I should say, I hope you can’t know— how hateful your own flesh can appear bathed in greenish-yellow dressing-room light as you try on your spaghetti-strapped wrestling singlet for the first time. For my wrestling class, I'd wanted to look like a wrestler.
YOU’VE MADE PEACE WITH YOUR PAUNCH. YOU’VE ACCEPTED WAISTLINE sprawl as life’s third inevitability. You’re okay with it. What’s the harm in a little extra padding? Plenty, as it turns out. A Michelinesque bulge in your midriff can have life-threatening implications.
THE ONLY GOOD UV ray is a blocked UV ray. That’s the dismal word from the skin-cancer specialists. Only ten years ago, they promised us that we could keep our tans as long as we slathered on sunscreens that filtered out the type of ultraviolet light— UVB—that causes sunburn.
I WOULD LIKE TO WELCOME YOU ALL,” the best man launches his toast, “to the tenth engagement party I’ve attended for my good friend Warren.” Everyone chortles at the joke and glances indulgently at the bridegroom, a lifelong bachelor, and his glowing young fiancée.
Scampi lovers have long been racked by guilt over the heart-stopping quantities of cholesterol in shrimp. Well— basta! In a study published in The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition, a controlled diet that included a self-indulgent ten ounces of shrimp daily (by itself almost double an adult’s recommended daily dose of cholesterol) raised blood levels of good, HDL cholesterol but not the bad, LDL kind.
Women invade one of the last exclusive male clubs—men’s fashion design
IT HAS LONG BEEN AN AXiom of fashion that men could successfully design women’s clothes, from flamboyant evening dresses to smart little suits, but women were somehow unable to return the favor. While there has been a long line of successful female fashion designers, from Chanel to Donna Karan, there have been few who have particularly distinguished themselves designing men’s clothes.
Ivy League style hasn’t gone away—it’s gone modern. What look best right now are classic suits and accessories: oxford shirts, repp and madras ties, and starched white pocket squares, all featured here at the Richard Meier-designed Museum of Television & Radio in Los Angeles. Photographs by Troy House. Produced by John Mather.
Rise and shine with the Today show’s new main man Photograph by Stephen Danelian Produced by John Mather
SOME DAYS, IT’S HARD ENOUGH JUST GETTING out of bed, let alone turning on the TV and seeing a man who wakes up more women in one morning than you ever will. “What time do you get up?” asks Matt Lauer, thirty-mine, the bright-eyed, affable cohost of NBC’s Today, television’s most-watched morning program.
Start with an impeccably tailored Italian suit. Throw in a dash of color with a bold necktie. Add personality —Kyle Chandler of TV’s Early Edition—for a higher degree of style.
BEST KNOWN TILL NOW FOR his role on the acclaimed but short-lived series Homefront, Kyle Chandler can be seen these days starring in the hit CBS drama Early Edition. And it is eminently fitting that the character he plays goes by the first name Gary:
Fashion Cyber Ivy, p. 100: Hermès Suit ($2,750) at Hermès boutiques nationwide. Burberrys shirt ($65) at Lord & Taylor nationwide; McRae’s, Jackson, MS; Davison's Men’s Shop, Cherry Hill, NJ. Tommy Hilfiger tie ($47) at Macy’s nationwide; Bloomingdale’s nationwide; Dillard’s nationwide.
Remember, you’re nobody until you’ve beaten the living hell out of some buddy
I HAVE LITERALLY JUST PUT THE finishing touches on my new novel—I mean I’ve just typed the final period and hit the Save command—when my seemingly telepathic chum Manny calls to congratulate me. “Come on over to my place, and we’ll celebrate,” he says.