Close your eyes, remove both socks and repeat after us: "One day I'll wake up and the presidential campaign will be over." Feeling better? You bet. Now join us in a celebration of beauty and enlightenment. Consider this our modest monthly contribution to the happiness of human beings--without whom, we'd like to point out, there'd be no call for socks or politics.
General Offices: Playboy 680 North Lake Shore Drive Chicago Illinois 6068 Playboy Assumes No Responsibility To Return Unsolicited Editorial Or Graphic Or Other Material All Rights In Letters And Unsolicited Editorial And Graphic Material Will Be Treated As Unconditionally Assigned For Publication And Copyright Purposes And Material Will Be Subject To Playboy'S Unrestricted Right To Edit And To Comment Editorially Playboy Date Of Production North July 1992 Custodian Records Is Marcia Terrones All Record Required By Law To Be Maintained By Publisher Are Located At 680 North Lake And Shore Drive Chicago Illinois 6068 Ii Contents Copyright 1992 By Playboy All Rights Reserved Playboy Playmate And Rabbit Head Symbol Are Marks Of Playboy Registered Us Trademark Office Nothing May Be Reprinted In Whole Or In Part Without Written Permission From The Publisher Any Similarity Between The People And Places In The Fiction And Semifiction Of This Magazine And Any Real People And Places Is Purely Coincidential Credits Photography By P. S. Paul Chesley Marc Cimaroll Steve Conway 121 Kip Corley Benno Friedman Ron Mesaros (2) Karen O'Brien Rob Rich (4) P 12 Richard Fegley P 22 Bob Roberts/Miramax Films P 24 Ralph Nelson/Columbia Pictures P 26 Conway Fia Porter P 33 Bettman P 35 Conway P 36 Fegley P 51 Ap/Wide World P 79 Arny Frey Tag Courtesy Of Apsen Art Gallery P 130 Thanks To Stephen Ostergen Of Scarlet Fever New Brunswick Nj Lou Maggio Of Venus Swimwear Jacksonville Fl The Game Apparel And H20 Scuba P Back Ground By Hugh Hamrcik Styling By Tracey Garet Illustrations By B2 Guy Biil Out Tony Fitzpatrick Franklin Mint Outsert In All Domestic Subscription Poly Wrapped Copies Cbs Compact Disc Club Insert Between Hpages 16 17 Franklin Ming Card Between Pages 28-29 And Bmg Compact Disc Club Card Between Pages 44-45 In All Domestic Newsstand And Subscription Copies Kool Insert And Card Between Pages 166-167 In Maryland And Virginia Newstand And Subscription Copies Doral Insert Between Pages 166-167 In Arkansas Delaware Kansas Missouri Nebraska North Dakota, Pennsylvania South Dakota Tennessee And West Virginia Newstand And Subscription Copies Printed In U.S.A.
Talkin' Fast Department: There's a new world record for the fastest rapping. Tung Twista'sThe Record Breaker was clocked at 598 syllables in just under a minute, breaking the old record by 70 syllables, good enough for The Guinness Book of World Records. Says Tung, "I had to write a rhyme that I knew was going to break the record, so I just titled it The Record Breaker." Makes sense.
In this election year, Bob Roberts (Miramax/Paramount) is as timely as a TV sound bite. The movie turns out to be darkly comic as well, with Tim Robbins--star of Robert Altman's The Player--hot as ever in the title role, while positioning himself as a triple-threat man (he also wrote and directed this social send-up). The titular Roberts is a rich, rabid folksinger financing his own "rebel conservative" race for the U.S. Senate. His campaign is being filmed by a British TV documentary crew, and that's the format of Roberts, which leaves little doubt about its doggedly liberal slant. Spoofing media coverage of all political contests, Robbins' prime targets range from a campaign manager specializing in damage control (Alan Rickman oozes obnoxiousness in the role) to the slick TV newscasters played for laughs by Susan Sarandon, James Spader, Pamela Reed and Peter Gallagher. Author Gore Vidal appears as the incumbent Senator under siege, with Giancarlo Esposito as the black underground journalist who wants to bring Roberts down. Very much a young man's movie, Robbins' debut as writer-director bursts with verve and opinion, often overstating its case and overdoing the busy hand-held camera stuff. But how many politically potent comedies are even made nowadays? Damned few. [rating]3-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
Just when it looked as though the American detective novel couldn't get much better, James Ellroy appears with a stylistic breakthrough that may revolutionize crime fiction. The tough, telegraphic prose of White Jazz(Knopf) gives the term hard-boiled a whole new meaning. Written in a riveting street-smart cop shorthand, this wild, funny novel reaches back to the free-swinging days of rackets, racism and corrupt cops in Los Angeles circa 1958.
I am a pornographer. From earliest childhood, I saw sex suffusing the world. I felt the rhythms of nature and the aggressive energies of animal life. Art objects, in both museum and church, seemed to blaze with sensual beauty. The authority figures of church, school and family denied or suppressed what I saw, but like Madonna, I kept to my pagan vision. I belong to the Sixties generation that tried and failed to shatter all sexual norms and taboos. In my book Sexual Personae I injected lewdness, voyeurism, homoeroticism and sadomasochism into the entire Western high-art tradition.
The odds are that 1992 will be the Year of the Woman in national politics. The powerful cultural revolution that we have lived through for the past several decades will finally show its effects at the ballot box.
Settle an argument: What is multiple orgasm? My friend says his wife has four or five orgasms every time they have sex. I suspect she has one orgasm with four or five peaks. Who's right?--K. R., Vallejo, California.
Sociologist John Gagnon, who has studied sex for decades, told me a story about an unwed teenage mother. The girl lost her virginity and became pregnant because her boyfriend promised to buy her living-room furniture someday. What makes a young girl think that sex results in a sofa or a home in the suburbs instead of a baby?
"The First Amendment's religion clauses mean that religious beliefs and religious expression are too precious to be either proscribed or prescribed by the state. The design of the Constitution is that preservation and transmission of religious beliefs and worship is a responsibility and a choice committed to the private sphere. [Of concern are] school officials, whose effort to monitor prayer will be perceived by the students as inducing d participation they might otherwise reject."
Los Angeles burns, a black rap artist makes some remarks about whites dying in ghetto violence and Bill Clinton jumps all over her, producing one of those flurries that does nothing to educate and everything to entertain. Welcome to the campaign, 1992.
Miami--the vampire's city. South Beach at sunset, in the luxurious warmth of the winterless winter, the breeze moving in from the placid sea across the dark margin of cream-colored sand to cool the happy mortal children. The sweet parade of fashionable young men displaying their cultivated muscles with touching vulgarity, or of young women proud of their streamlined modern limbs.
If you Have ever seen Felicia Michaels--at a comedy club or on TV--you probably think of her as the comic with that voice: like Minnie Mouse on helium. If she told jokes at a higher pitch, only dogs would be laughing. "I know some of you are looking at me and hoping this isn't my natural speaking voice," Felicia tells audiences in the first moments of her act. Then, with a sweet smile, she squeaks, "Well, this is it!" In an interview in Los Angeles, where the 28-year-old comedian lives when she's not headlining at clubs around the country, Felicia admits that her voice is a great gimmick, but the gimmick was a gift. "I guess this is just God's way of giving me a break," she says. "Over a microphone my voice sounds like a total cartoon. If it gets a laugh right away, I know I'm going to be OK." Once you're tuned to Felicia's frequency, you can sit back and watch the pretty girl onstage turn a few stereotypes inside out. "Some people hear my voice and see my blonde hair and automatically think I'm stupid," Felicia says in her act. "People think blondes are stupid, and lots of blondes get pissed off. Not me. I think it's cool. This way you can make major mistakes and nobody ever gets mad at you. 'Honey, I didn't mean to sleep with your brother. . . . Well, he tricked me!'" A lot of Felicia's material is rooted in her single-woman's travails with boyfriends, dating, love and sex. "It always surprises me how people are offended by sex and talking about sex," she says onstage. "Because sex is the most natural thing. I mean, be safe, be responsible, but what's the big deal? There was a time when men thought that women didn't like sex, and that's not true. We like sex. We even like oral sex. What we don't like are the stupid questions you guys ask afterward. 'What does it taste like?' What are we supposed to say? 'Well, being a connoisseur of fine jizz, I would say that yours is full-bodied, dry and unassuming.'" It was seven years ago, when she was dating a fledgling comic, that Felicia first set foot onstage. In a moment of bravado she told him his job looked easy, and he dared her to try. She debuted at an open mike a week later with her jokes written on a huge piece of paper taped to the floor, a cheat sheet in case she froze. "I killed," she remembers, laughing. "I was queen of the stage for five minutes." Within a year Felicia left her home in Colorado Springs, Colorado, to try her luck at stand-up in L.A. It took her several more years to polish an act that earned regular stage time in the West Coast comedy capital--and steady work on the road. "The road is tough for a woman," she says. "A lot of male comics take their girlfriends. The girlfriends go, 'OK. I won't waitress this week. I'll go with you to New York.' But if you're a woman comic, no guy is going to be the bitch. Can you see this? 'OK. I'll quit my engineering job and go to New York with you, baby. I'll carry the luggage.' And you can't go out with a guy you meet on the road, 'cause you might end up in a ditch. So it gets lonely." Felicia's hard work paid off this year when TV's Star Search awarded her its top comedy honors and $100,000 in prize money. That gave her the boost she needed to take another high-profile assignment: posing for Playboy. "A few girlfriends said, 'How could you do it? Don't you know Playboy stands for everything that's wrong about society's view of women?' I'm like, 'Listen, I've shown more for a lobster dinner. Know what I mean? Get a grip.'"
The average guy in college is like a superhero making a quick change in the nearest phone booth: He goes in feeling awkward and unsure of himself and emerges--POW! BAM! BOOM!--ready to take on the world. Granted, you won't see him leaping tall buildings in a single bound. But you won't catch him in silly blue tights, either--or the wrong kind of sneakers. Fashion is a serious subject on campus. To give you a jump on how to navigate the quad, we've put together this nine-page guide to collegiate style. We clue you in on the right togs for freshman year (stay away from those bookstores that sell only school shorts and sweat shirts). We keep you on top of campus trends (check out Ren & Stimpy on Nickelodeon). Jeans? Sneakers? We have the scoop. And just in case you're about to be sprung from academe, we tip you off on how to dress to impress those picky recruiters. That's right! The real world. It's just outside the phone booth.
When Billy Crystal was in Moscow several years ago preparing a TV comedy special, he made a lunch date to meet the country's leading comic, a man named Gennadi Khazanov. Crystal got to the restaurant first, sat down at a table and kept his eye on the door as dozens of patrons trooped in. He had no idea what Khazanov looked like. Nor did he have any reason to think the Russian funnyman would dress funny or walk funny; this was the straitlaced dining room of a hotel on Red Square. Yet Crystal spotted Khazanov the moment he walked into the room.
A Mirage? From the deck of her boat, Tiffany Sloan sees neon towers rising from the desert. In the distance . . . yes, it's the Mirage. Also the Flamingo and the Sands. And off the port bow, Caesars Palace. "It's a great view, isn't it?" says Miss October, who can step out her back door, board a boat and look down on Las Vegas. The boat, a hot-pink cruiser parked on a trailer in her yard near Black Mountain, on the gambling mecca's outskirts, can also cruise Lake Mead at a heady 70 mph. But not tonight. Tonight, Tiffany wants to relax and enjoy the view. She likes the way life is treating her these days. A veteran achiever of impossible things--like the magicians who levitate themselves in the big rooms on the Strip (boating in the desert is the least of her miracles)--Tiffany is a shy sex symbol. "I'm too embarrassed to wear lingerie for my boyfriend." She is also a pacifist who wants to be a gun-toting cop. Now this former construction worker and football star is our Playmate of the Month. "If you like surprises, I'm your girl," she says. Tiffany grew up in Bullhead City, Arizona, just across the river from Laughlin, Nevada, where her dad was chief of security for a casino. She couldn't go out and play in the desert near their home--too many scorpions. Tall and strong for her age, she played tackle football with boys. "I beat them up," she says, grinning. She tried out for the school team. "I had breasts by then, so the boys wanted me in the locker room, but the school board wouldn't let me play." Casino business led the family to Vegas; a family breakup and young Tiffany's streak of independence led her out the door. "I left home when I was fifteen," she says. "I worked on a construction crew. It's not the best work for a girl. Too many pervs whistling and talking at you all the time." She danced behind Joe Piscopo at the Sands, won a few beauty contests and sent a shyly suggestive photo to Playboy. Bingo: Tiffany hit the jackpot. "It's kind of embarrassing, posing nude," she says, "but it can be a rush, too." Dancing onstage and winning beauty pageants had revealed something to Tiffany. "I found out I love performing, having people look at me. Posing for these pictures, I wasn't shy anymore. I felt so comfortable that I was walking around nude without realizing it. It was a natural high. All of a sudden, I loved what I was doing--I just lit up." Just like the lucky town down the mountain from her house.
MacDermott and MacDuff were sitting in front of the clubhouse fireplace after 18 holes of golf on a raw, blustery day. The ice slowly melted from their beards and collected in puddles under their chairs. Outside, the wind continued to howl off the North Sea and hail beat against the windows.
As The Booming timpani of 2001: A Space Odyssey resonate through the room, sit back and get ready to experience a quantum leap into a new era of television. Like the apes that marveled at the mysterious monolith, you'll be amazed at the TV technology that's set to emerge within the next ten years: wide screens that will make your living room even more like a movie theater; high-definition pictures to provide video so superior it's like looking through a window; sound that's as clear and crisp as that from a compact disc; sets with built-in computing power to enable you to shop or pay bills via remote control; and a satellite that will deliver more than 100 channels to a dish that's small enough to fit on your windowsill. It's all headed for your home within a decade.
sports by GARY COLE Two years ago Colorado and Georgia Tech were co-national champions. Last season it was Miami and Washington. In the absence of a national play-off system, and with the method for determining bowl pairings slightly more complicated than the tax code, this co- thing may be the wave of the future. But maybe that isn't so bad. Look what it did for Willie Nelson and that Julio guy. And if we introduced the co- concept to politics, we could forget the current election and simply have co-Presidents.
What we stole was a greyhound. Her name was Coco and she belonged to Rocco Giaccalone, president of the local chapter of the women's garment union. Giaccalone was a dime-store mafioso, a fat old man who wore sweaty suits and sharp-toed shoes and who supposedly once snipped off the thumbs of a driver who'd stolen a few cartons of cigarettes from one of his trucks.
The Eastern seaboard is known for many things: the teeming masses of the Big Apple, the cozy allure of New England's bed-and-breakfasts, the lush Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia and the neon fun and sun of Florida. To hoop fans, it's also the home of the Big East basketball conference, one of the hottest in the NCAA. In 1989, Playboy paid a memorable visit to its campuses to chronicle the beauty of their coeds. Since then, something new--you could call it a Big development--has been added: Big East football, a Division I conference that includes four of the schools (University of Miami, Boston College, the University of Pittsburgh and Syracuse) that are represented in basketball's Big East plus gridiron teams from Rutgers, Temple, Virginia Tech and West Virginia. The conference is young--two years old--and boasts an impressive roster with lots of big-play capabilitiets for the participating teams. The 1992 season promises to be well worth watching. The new configuration also made an investigation of the reconstituted Big East imperative, so we dispatched Contributing Photographers David Chan and David Mecey to give football a kinder, gentler image. Focused on their mission, the two Davids each took four schools at which to man their respective shutters. Striving to produce yet another spectacular Playboy pictorial, they photographed scores of lovely coeds on their collegiate turf. Was the mission a success? You be the judge. The overwhelming evidence appears on these and following pages.
I would hope the nuns would be proud of the way I turned out," says Tim Robbins of his grade school teachers. Maybe yes--maybe no. He garnered critical acclaim for his portrayal of the morally flawed movie executive Griffin Mill in this year's hit "The Player." On the other hand, the actor's long-standing but clerically unsanctioned relationship with actress Susan Sarandon recently produced a second child.
When the compact disc hit the hi-fi market a decade ago, many audiophiles hailed the format as sonic perfection. Now the company that brought us the CD, Philips Consumer Electronics, is hoping to enjoy similar success with a new digital-tape format called DCC. Short for digital compact cassette, DCC promises sound quality comparable to the CD, with the added benefit: of digital recording. Also, DCC decks from companies such as Philips, Marantz and Technics are compatible with analog technology, which means they'll play your old cassettes as well as new DCC tapes. And because DCC cassettes are more durable (and more portable) than analog ones, personal and car stereos are coming, too.
"Bobby Squared"--A Middle-Aged Suburban Schoolteacher Hooks up With a Stripper Turned Drug Dealer and Gets Much More Than she Bargained for when she Joins Him for A Face-Off in a Florida Swamp--Fiction by Pat Jordan