If You're one of our thousands of college-age readers, peruse this issue carefully, since it contains many things you'll want to know to broaden your education. The first and, of course, most crucial question is "Where can I find me some women?" Last year, in response to that annual refrain, we sent our roving Contributing Photographer David Chan to find the prettiest girls in the Ivy League colleges. This year, Chan and make-up artist Sherral Snow visited those colleges and universities whose students' serious devotion to nonacademic activities has earned them reputations as party schools. In the spirit of recreation, we bring you Women of the Top Ten Party Colleges, an opportunity for you to meet some young ladies who understand that all work and no play makes Jane a dull girl. Of course, sex isn't all there is to getting an education. If it were, you could skip college and just read The Playboy Advisor. No, there's more to college than endless hickies. There's football, for instance.
Playboy: (ISSN 0032-1478); October 1987, Volume 34, Number 10, Published monthly by Playboy, Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and its possessions. $56 for 36 issues, $38 for 24 issues, $24 for 12 issues. Canada, $35 for 12 issues, Elsewhere, $35 (U.S. Currency) for 12 issues. Allow 45 days for new subscriptions and renewals. Change of address: Send both old and new addresses to Playboy. Postmaster: Send form 3579 to Playboy, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51593-0222, and allow 45 days for change Circulation: Jack Bernstein, Circulation Promotion Director. Advertising: New York: 747 Third Avenue, New York 10017; Chicago: 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago 60611; West Coast: Perkins, Fox & Perkins, 3205 Ocean Park Boulevard, suite 100, Santa Monica, California 90405
Since his Seventies hit "Fooled Around and Fell in Love" with Elvin Bishop, pop fans have known that Georgia native Mickey Thomas is a singer's singer. Now enjoying an, impressive run of chart busters with Starship, Thomas took time out from finishing the band's new LP, "No Protection," to comment on "Whitney," by another singer's singer, Whitney Houston.
Will you still need me, will you still feed me? department: Where was Ringo during the 20th-anmversary celebration of Sgt. Pepper at Abbey Road Studios? Watching his sons, Zack and Jason, play drums at a South London club. Who says there's a generation gap?
The unforced screwball pleasures of Nadine (Tri-Star) are a treat in this era of slam-bam-pow comedies that grab you by the shirt front and give a hard shake to let you know what's funny. Writer-director Robert Benton knows the gentle and not-so-gentle folk of Texas (Places in the Heart was his last dig into those cultural roots). His feel for the place and the people warms up every frame of Nadine, with Kim Basinger as a vulnerable, skittish Austin beautician who gets involved with rattlesnakes--real ones as well as the human variety--while trying to retrieve some nudie photos of herself. In pursuit of the so-called art studies, she becomes an unwitting witness to the murder of a small-potatoes photographer (Jerry Stiller in a very brief appearance) who conned her into believing he'd been in the Army with Mr. Hugh Hefner. Set back in the innocent Fifties, Nadine finally allows Basinger some room to exercise the zany down-home charm and comic flair of which she gave teasing glimpses in The Man Who Loved Women and Blind Date. Jeff Bridges is a perfect foil as her nearly ex-husband, Vernon Hightower, a likable perennial loser whose efforts to help his wife are hit or miss at best. "You two are living testimony to the fact that it's better to be lucky than smart," roars Rip Torn, high in his saddle as the snaky tycoon involved in a highway scam the couple has accidentally uncovered. Benton's loco dialog doesn't always rise to the lofty standard set by his actors, who could obviously handle snappier repartee if they had it. Still, the chips fall on the side of Nadine as an irresistibly romantic and unassuming comedy of errors. [rating]3-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
Almost Everyone agrees that war is hell, which means--at least for the civilian population that knows war through books and movies--an imaginary land where gruesome punishments are meted out to the just and the unjust alike. For vicarious purposes, World War Two is still the best of all possible hells, since its heroes and villains are clearly defined as Us vs. Them. In The Berkut (Random House), Joseph Heywood has put a clever spin on conventional World War Two adventures by pitting Them against Them. Stalin dispatches a Soviet dirty half dozen to hunt down the escaped Adolf Hitler through the postwar ruins of the Axis countries. Hitler is assisted by a squad of teen Valkyries, some minions of the Vatican and Colonel Brumm, a Rambo of the SS. The book's 496 pages are one long schuss to a satisfyingly nasty comeuppance for der Führer. This is first-rate irresponsible escapist nonsense--and literate, to boot!
I traveled through Germany a decade after World War Two. The countryside was scarred and the cities were full of rubble. In those days, as Germany crawled out from its ashes, even a very young American was tolerated as he asked questions about Hitler and fascism. "How did it happen?" I continually inquired.
The maneuvering, the strategies are so difficult that I've needed three full-time advisors, plus my shrink. Not, reader, that it will work out. I know it won't--I'm not kidding myself--but I do find it fascinating and dizzying and some of the toughest work I've ever done. To conduct successful courtship procedures, you need the iron will of a four-star general and the flexibility of Baryshnikov.
How do I tell if a girl is interested in me? I go to bars and fraternity parties all the time. I meet plenty of potential dates, but I can't tell where polite repartee ends and serious interest begins. Any hints?--W. M., Madison, Wisconsin.
Welcome to the 1988 Presidential campaign. For the first time in American history, sex promises to be a featured attraction of campaign rhetoric, as the candidates, advisors and back-room boys grapple with the volatile subject of AIDS.
Robert Dole: We must deal with [AIDS] in a logical and orderly fashion. To make a mistake or even an error in judgment at this time could interfere with our best efforts to protect the American public and every individual citizen. I say this with good reason--and with specific reference to mandating testing....
Shoppers at the 157 Winn-Dixie stores in southern Florida can kiss these bare breasts goodbye. The June issues of Glamour and Cosmopolitan, featuring nude boobs, were banned from the shelves by breastphobic executives. Now, with the public delivered from this shocking sight, can we ban those male boobs heading up Winn-Dixie?
Once--long ago--President Ronald Reagan wanted to nominate Attorney General Edwin Meese to the Supreme Court. But not even the President could prevent Meese from uttering public statements that ran counter to the Constitution and made Congressmen, even Republican Congressmen, scratch their heads in wonder. His most notable gaffe was his statement that anyone who was arrested was most likely guilty.
If Bob Uecker had batted .300, not .200, he'd probably own Bob's Ball Park Bratwurst today instead of a franchise on media penetration. He acts ("Mr. Belvedere"), sells beer (Miller Lite), does radio play-by-play for the Milwaukee Brewers and hosts "Bob Uecker's Wacky World of Sports." And, because of his soft-centered-blowhard TV character, Uecker also has to stand still for all the autograph-seeking, failed macho boys who clutch his head in an arm lock, elbow him in the ribs and want to play beer commercial. Sometimes, he'd rather be fishing in Lake Michigan on his boat, The Front Row; but, hey, sports fans, everything's got a down side. Contributing Editor David Rensin recently met with Uecker before a Brewers home game. Said Rensin, "It was a perfect afternoon. The stadium was empty. Bob suggested that we talk in the stands. He gazed toward the upper deck. Bingo! We sat in the expensive seats as long as we pleased."
In pro sports these days, when the going gets tough, the tough get hypnotized. And the sports hypnotherapist of choice is 32-year-old Peter Siegel of Marina del Rev, California. "Every athlete I work with improves radically, dcmonstrably, immediately--without exception," boasts Siegel, who is never at a loss for a self-aggrandizing word. Siegel honed his craft on weight lifters and bodybuilders, but his big break came when New York Mets pitcher Sid Fernandez approached him and Siegel helped transform the struggling left-hander into a consistent winner, National League All-Star and key player in the Mets' seventh-game world-series victory last year. "He wasn't a human being when he went onto the mound--he was an unchained lethal gladiator," claims the ebullient Siegel. "That was the imagery we used." Siegel's past and present clients include Kansas City Chiefs' Pete Koch, Dallas Cowboys' Bill Bates and Kevin Brooks, Cleveland Indians' Rick Dempsey, plus players from football's Los Angeles Rams and baseball's Los Angeles Dodgers and San P'rancisco Giants. Siegel uses hypnosis to bypass the doubting conscious mind and imbue the subconscious with confidence and an indomitable will to prevail. Says Siegel: "David didn't look at Goliath and say, 'Oh, shit! How am I going to kick this huge guy's ass?' He just said, 'All right, no problem. See you later, pal.'" Obviously, Siegel samples his own wares: "There has not been one sports psychologist who can even come close to rivaling what I've done." he claims. "Never. And there never will be."
I love working places where the audience gets sprayed wit your sweat when you spin around," says Canada's kineti and kookie K. D. Lang, 24, who is revamping country music in an edgy, offbeat style she calls torch V twang. "Twang is a part of country that's starting to happen again," she says, "and I love the country torch singers, like Patsy Cline." Lang's major-label debut, Angel with a Lariat (Sire), displays both vocal prowess and unusual wit. "Humor and realism are really close," she says, "and that's what I strive for in lyrics." That combination raised eyebrows in Nashville, whichhasn't had much experience with a woman who's both c crack rifle shot and an ex-performance artist. "I've never been worried by barriers," says Lang. "I just do what I do, and if that means creating your own market, so much the better."
Michael Biehn, the gunslung hero of both The Terminator and Aliens, is pulling himself out of the carnage of s-f movies and into a presentable tailored suit. Biehn, 31, stars as a handsome district attorney pushing for the death penalty in Rampage--"a very misleading title," he says. "It is more of a courtroom drama than a Rambo type of thing." Biehn dropped out of acting school in the late Seventies, thinking it was a waste of time. Instead, he moved to L.A. and, after a dismal string of odd jobs, was launched into a series of villainous roles that led to The Terminator, in which he starred as a rippling good guy opposite Arnold Schwarzenegger's killing machine. "I was never in the same scenes with Arnold," says Biehn. "By the time we were fighting one on one, he had turned into a robot." The next time out, Biehn found himself in combat with the gooey, toothy Aliens. Grateful for the exposure of those two hits, he has moved on to more demanding projects. "Before The Terminator and Aliens, no one would let me star. Now if people ask, 'What have you been in?' I can say, 'Where have you been, under a rock? Don't you go to the movies?' "
Actress Kim Myers is getting used to contradictions. Yes, she was born in L.A., but she swears she's not a California Girl. "No, oh, please," she protests, "I'm not that at all." And while she grew up in a musical family (her father composes the weekly scores for Dynasty and Falcon Crest), "I didn't see a lot of Hollywood glamor," Kim claims. The biggest contradiction of all is that Hollywood insiders consider the 21-year-old Myers one of the best of the new breed of actors, but the public has barely had a chance to learn her name. Her first role, in A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2, turned some heads, but it was a guest shot on L.A. Law (she had to describe, in detail, her brother's death in a car crash) that made studio execs take notice. Her following should grow over the next few months, when three of her movies hit the screens, including Illegally Yours, with Rob Lowe. "The thought of Rob Lowe was more intimidating than the actual person," Kim says. "He's very down to earth and extremely funny. But those eyes--in the beginning, I had a hard time. He certainly knows how to use those eyes."
They've never hit the Top 40 nor been nominated for a Grammy. In fact, they've never sold a single record. Yet millions of people every day listen, even sing to music written and arranged by Joe Lubinsky (left) and Ron Hicklin. Their four-year-old firm, HLC, has created an impressive trail of nonhits that includes the original Levi's "501 Blues" series, the spunky Wheaties "What the Big Boys Eat" spots and the Devoistic Honda Scooter ad. "There are hundreds of pop hits from the past that nobody can remember the music or words to," says Lubinsky, 35, who writes much of the firm's music. "But the really great jingles stay with you forever." Of course, in an era of VCRs and remote controls, writing music that won't be zapped into electronic oblivion is a bit of a challenge. "The only way you can overcome the public's feeling that they are being pestered with another stupid commercial is to offer something of exceptional quality," argues Hicklin, 47, a singer, arranger and producer who has worked with such artists as the Beatles, Linda Ronstadt and Frank Sinatra. Using that formula, the pair has cranked out about 3000 tunes, which has piqued the interest of record-company execs who would like to see the two put together a record and assault the charts. "We've told them we're flattered but not interested," says Lubinsky. "We truly feel comfortable with an esoteric sort of recognition. It's fun to hear somebody humming your song in a restaurant and not have to worry about being mobbed."
Neon clocks have been around since the early Thirties, usually as an advertising medium that hangs in a bar, a restaurant or a store. Now a company named Whistling Oyster in North Hollywood, California, is bringing back the clocks in a variety of custom designs. This one, which measures 26" in diameter, can be used indoors or out and features a baked finish and a brass electrical movement, about $995.