Happy VIP Day. For exactly nine years we have knelt at Pam Anderson's substantial altar. Now, as star of her own TV show, she has put her body of work on the line again. In a brand-new, 14-page pictorial, she and Contributing Photographer Stephen Wayda deliver a box of sweets you won't forget.
Playboy (ISSN 0032-1478), February 1999, Volume 46, Number 2. Published monthly by Playboy, 680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: U.S., $29.97 for 12 issues, Canada $43.97 for 12 issues. All other foreign, $45 U.S. Currency only. For new and renewal orders and change of address, send to Playboy subscriptions, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51537-4007. Please allow 6--8 weeks for processing. For change of address, send new and old addresses and allow 45 days for change. Postmaster: Send form 3579 to Playboy, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51537-4007. Advertising: New York, 730 Fifth Avenue, New York 10019 (212-261-5000); Chicago: 680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago 80611 (312-751-8000); West Coast: SD Media, 2001 Wilshire Boulevard, Suite 200, Santa Monica, CA 90403 (310-264-7575); Southeast: Coleman & Bentz, Inc., 4651 Roswell Road NE, Atlanta, GA 30342 (404-256-3800); Boston: Northeast Media Sales, 8 Faneuil Hall Marketplace, Boston 02109 (617-973-5050). For Subscription Inquiries, Call 800-999-4438.
It's good to see James Woods in a meaty, major role worthy of his talent. Another Day in Paradise (Trimark) gives him a part that plays to all his strengths as an edgy, moody, high-stakes thief and druggie who can turn on the charm when he wants to. His latest victim is Bobbie, a teenage runaway (Vincent Kartheiser) who is inexperienced and impulsive. Woods takes him under his wing and trains him to help out on a couple of big-league heists. In the process, Woods and Melanie Griffith become surrogate parents to Kartheiser and his girlfriend (Natasha Gregson Wagner). These are not heroes in the conventional movie sense, but you find yourself caring about them just the same, as the risks they take become bigger and more daring. Director Larry Clark (who also directed Kids) gives the film a loose, fly-on-the-wall feeling that's enhanced by the utter credibility of his actors. [rating]3 bunnies[/rating]
Scenes trimmed from a movie used to be routinely discarded, and film buffs have moaned over this for years. (Did Frank Capra really toss the first two reels of Lost Horizon into an incinerator after an unsuccessful preview?)
Whether you remember him best for playing the lawyer in Indecent Exposure, the smarmy campaign manager in Bulworth or the sympathetic high school teacher in Simon Birch,Oliver Platt has made an impression during his ten years on-screen. Some people think he's in for an Oscar nomination for his work this past year in Bulworth.
"I have a couple of favorite movies," says America's Funniest Videos' Daisy Fuentes."Powder, which I rented about a year ago, is one of those movies that get everyone in the room talking about life and deep stuff. And the other one is The Abyss. It is an intense movie. Again, it gets people thinking and talking about the possibilities of everything that's out there. I enjoy comedies. I'm a big fan of Jim Carrey. I'm a fan of Steve Martin--I love him in The Jerk. I'm a fan of Martin Short. I'll laugh at anything he does. He could just stand in front of me and make me laugh. I had the chance to work with him when I was at MTV. We did a weekend stint, like an intensive improv class. I'm a Mel Brooks fan, too. I love History of the World--Part I. I watch that over and over again. I also like his earlier stuff, like Young Frankenstein."
While some blanch at the idea of rebuilding their video library--a logical if costly prospect in this bold new DVD era--we prefer to fill the holes in our laser collection. Among the recent plugs are two breakthrough imports on Voyager's Criterion Collection label: Australian director Peter Weir's haunting 1975 Picnic at Hanging Rock ($30) and director John Mackenzie's The Long Good Friday ($30), featuring Bob Hoskins' most explosive screen performance to date. Picnic, a cinematically breathtaking if often impenetrable mystery, appears in its original aspect ratio (1.66:1). The film benefits substantially from Weir's re-cutting and a Dolby Stereo soundtrack.
Slightly annoying but lovable, U2 is the musical equivalent of a frisky sheepdog who jumps up and licks your face. The first retrospective in U2's 20-year history, The Best of 1980--1990, comes in two formats. The single-disc edition covers the hits through Rattle and Hum, and the double-disc adds 15 B sides and rarities. In the Reagan years, the recordings were erratic. U2 could be bombastic, but it had heart and spirit. The studio versions of the early productions included here are drenched in reverb. Drums drown out guitars. The best renditions of early hits such as Sunday Bloody Sunday and I Will Follow--the songs that broke the band in America--appear on the live EP Under a Blood Red Sky. Producer Brian Eno's cerebral touch made U2's albums more adventurous and focused. Wide Awake in America was U2's Eighties masterpiece. The music was spectacular, the lyrics dealt more maturely with spiritual crises and hopes, and Bono had learned to "shout without raising his voice." The three songs included are faultless, but any fan should have the whole album. Rattle and Hum, its flawed roots album, is overrepresented.
You probably know Sammy Llanas' first group, the BoDeans, from Closer to Free--the bright, driving outburst of optimism that TV's Party of Five adopted as its anthem. On A Good Day to Die (Llanas), Lianas' new group, Absinthe, plays songs that are outbursts of pessimism. Llanas writes about kids bashed and shattered by bullies, parents, life's circumstances, even ominous weather. His music, meanwhile, has also grown gloomier: Bully on the Corner, the opening track, sounds like Lou Reed, but with more humor. Llanas can't help himself. He has a penchant for melody that makes his songs attractive, no matter how deep he delves into psychopathology. The result is a kind of perfection for those bold enough to seek out the bad news along with the good.
In 1955 Doug and John Clark realized they could make more money playing dance music and telling dirty jokes in frat houses than they could picking cotton. When they were the Tops, their fans referred to them as the Hot Nuts group, after their most popular naughty song. Thus began Doug Clark and the Hot Nuts, the world's first obscene rock-and-roll band and one of the most durable acts in entertainment history. Considered so risqué that their first album had to be shipped in unmarked boxes on Greyhound buses, the Hot Nuts had several adult comedy hits in the Sixties, but got monumentally screwed out of their royalties and haven't recorded since. Still a tradition in frat basements and alumni gatherings around the South and on the East Coast, they have released their first compact disc, A Greatest Hits Collection (Hot Nuts, 888-902-DOUG), collecting the original material that made them legends. The Hot Nuts are the missing link between vaudeville and rap, so some of the jokes are funny because they're funny, and some are funny because they're quaint in this age of Oval Office blow jobs. The Hot Nuts remain one of the world's greatest party bands--as well as an important chapter in American social history. "He's got a girl, her name is Grace/She tastes so good when she sits on his face." They don't write them like that anymore.
On Kate and Anna McGarrigle's The McGarrigle Hour (Hannibal), a bunch of middle-aged people sit around singing chestnuts instead of roasting them. The songs of Irving Berlin, Cole Porter and Stephen Foster meld sweetly into sea chanteys and Bahamian spirituals. Although Kate and Anna were plenty salty on 1996's Matapedia, unruffled sociability is the intention here, so there's no sex and only gentle jokes. It's obviously not the future of rock and roll, but the warm mood is seductive. Old friends who drop by add flavor. You can almost hear one of the sisters exclaiming, "Why, Linda Ronstadt! I declare--where have you been keeping yourself?"
New York rapper Canibus created a buzz outrhyming Wyclef and Common when he guested on their albums. But his own solo debut, Can-I-Bus (Universal), failed to meet hip-hop expectations. What else explains the lukewarm response to a CD where the metaphors keep on coming and the musical effects are witty? He's an old-fashioned battler--arrogant, articulate and impolite.
Three albums into its career, Outkast has become one of the most innovative acts in hip-hop. On Aquemini (LaFace) the team of Andre Benjamin and Big Boi offers a diverse plate of civil rights references (Rosa Parks), funk homages (Synthesizer, featuring George Clinton) and rhyme skills (Da Art of Storytellin'). With a few exceptions, these 15 cuts are sample free and highly melodic, with sung choruses bonding the rapid cadences of Dre and Boi. Guest appearances (Wu-Tang's Raekwon, Erykah Badu) add spice. Outkast brings Southern flavor to Nineties hip-hop.
There are no surprises to be found on Keith Sweat's Still in the Game (Elektra), but that's good. Sweat is a reliable singer of contemporary rhythm and blues. Like Tyrone Davis and Bobby Womack in their primes, Sweat sings of love lost and found in his trademark needy tenor. Can We Make Love, I'm Not Ready and Just Another Day are well-made, tightly constructed black pop. There are several guest appearances, but Sweat's message of chilled-out love is the selling point.
Deana Carter's father, Fred (a respected Nashville session guitarist and producer), wrote the wistful title track for Everything's Gonna Be Alright (Capitol). Alright features a ZZ Top-like shuffle that defines You Still Shake Me, the pop innocence of Angels Working Overtime and a steamy Bobbie Gentry-inspired Never Comin' Down. Carter connects with her favorite songwriting partner--Matraca Berg--for the lilting ballad Ruby Brown. Fred taught Deana to keep her ears open to diverse influences, and this album reflects it.
Other young sax players have received more attention than Dave Ellis, but they don't deserve it. His sound sits between Coltrane and Turrentine, and he has the ability to tell a convincing narrative, a skill that sets him apart from wannabes. Ellis was the third man in Charlie Hunter's original trio. But In the Long Run (Monarch) finds him far afield of acid-jazz fun, playing the mainstream from bebop to the present.
Leave it to Japanese technophiles to morph virtual pets into virtual matchmakers. The Lovegety, like its distant cousin the Tamagotchi, is an egg-shaped electronic device on a keychain that singles are toting to nightclubs and social events. When a guy packing his blue Lovegety gets within 15 feet of a woman and her pink one, the gadgets emit simultaneous beeps, suggesting each owner is in the mood to mingle. Lovegeties can be programmed to sound off three ways to indicate whether someone nearby is interested in chatting, getting to know one another better or having a romantic interlude. More than 1 million of the electronic icebreakers were sold in Japan during the first six months of availability. Will jaded Americans share this enthusiasm? There are plenty of people who are betting they will. The $25 twist-on Tamagotchi is expected to arrive Stateside later this summer. Or, if you're desperate for a date, you can order samples from the Web hub of Lip Service Communication (Love-Gety.com).
Cell phones don't get much slicker than Nokia's 6160. The digital ringer (pictured here in actual size) comes in a selection of iridescent colors with names straight out of a J. Crew catalog (ocean is the greenish hue shown here, earth is a burgundy shade and sky is light blue). In terms of tech, the 6160 is fully loaded. It has a 199-name-and-phone-number directory and 35 distinctive ringing tones that can be programmed to distinguish among calls from the boss, mom and your main squeeze. The phone receives and displays pager messages on its large LCD screen and also serves as a calculator, currency converter and game machine. Four digital diversions, including a variation of Concentration, will keep you occupied at the airport for about five hours. Beyond that, the battery will be out of juice and you'll be out of reach. The price: about $200; less with a package deal from your cell phone service provider. • Polaroid has entered the computer age. Its ColorShot digital photo printer connects to any PC to reproduce images from the Web, e-mail, digital cameras or scanners in Polaroid print form. Plus, it's small enough to pack in a briefcase if you want to print from a notebook computer while you're on the road. The price: $300, plus $30 for a ten-print pack of film.
Like the idea of curling up with a good electronic book? Neither do we, but electronic books have their merits. These computer tablets can download and display text from books, magazines, newspapers and other documents, and they are a lot easier to lug than thousands of paper-equivalent pages. E-books are also convenient (you can store several newspapers on one for your morning commute), ecofriendly (no trees or recycling required) and efficient. Don't like your vacation book? Plug in a new one. Remember, you don't have to make a trip to the library or bookstore for a new read. Simply connect your e-book to a phone line, dial up the manufacturer's Web-based bookstore, make a selection and wait a few minutes while it down-loads. E-books have backlit screens for night reading and easy-to-follow icons for turning and marking pages, taking notes and more. Some models even come with a dictionary and a thesaurus. Prices for the hardware (available from Softbook Press, NuvoMedia and Every-book) range from $299 to $1500, depending on storage capacity and features. You may have to open an account (costing upwards of $10 per month) to get access to content. But all digital reading material will be cheaper than the paper variety. So we're told.
Your broker may be indispensable for providing hot stock tips, but when it comes to helping you keep tabs on the ticker, wireless technology has him beat. The Beepwear Pro wristwatch ($150) from Timex and Motorola keeps time and delivers pager messages while receiving real-time stock quotes and alerting you to changes in key holdings in your portfolio. Data Broadcasting leases a calculator-sized FM receiver called Quo Trek, which provides stock quotes as well as news about the day's big gainers and losers. MarketClip is a service from Reuters America and Aether Technologies International that delivers quotes, charts, options and other market information to 3Com's Palm Pilot Professional personal digital assistants and Hewlett Packard's handheld PC. Beepwear is the most economical way to go, at a cost of about $50 per month. The other services require an activation fee of as much as $100 and at least that much every month in subscriber fees.
If you plan to e-mail your Valentine's Day greetings this year, consider this: Text is out, video is in. What better way to express your sentiments than by sending yourself--or, at least, a full-motion, full-color facsimile thereof--over the Internet? And with a host of new packages that come with everything you need to capture and send v-mail, you'll be a master of romantic messaging in no time. Note: Don't expect the picture quality of v-mail to match that of television. The business card-sized images look less like MTV and more like a surveillance recording of a liquor-store holdup. Still, it's fun to see your loved one perform just for you on the digital screen. In fact, we recommend that you hand out v-mail cameras (along with your e-mail address) as early Valentine's Day presents. It really is more blessed to give than to receive.
Going to Prague for two weeks? You can skip Czech lessons. "It's a very hard language--picking up enough to get by would probably take longer than the trip," says Martin Weiss, press secretary of the Czech embassy. But for any casual traveler who's computer savvy, learning a foreign language needn't mean Czechmate. In fact, interactive CD-ROM software with voice recognition actually makes practice fun. The Learning Company offers some heavy-duty three-CD kits that will have you speaking Spanish, French, or German like a native--if you go the total-immersion route. The average traveler, however, may be better off with the company's Passport to 31 Languages CD-ROM, which provides about 2500 words and 250 phrases in everything from Arabic and Indonesian to Swahili and Vietnamese. The Learning Company isn't alone in offering quickie courses in esoteric languages. Syracuse Language System's Smart-Start includes Mandarin--which should come in handy if you've been transferred to Shanghai. Syracuse also maintains a Web site, languageconnect.com, where you can order software direct or link to other language-related sites. But that's nothing compared to what online bookstores offer. Amazon.com has over 500 titles in its foreign-language section alone. Many are audiocassettes designed to be played while you're driving or exercising. You should also check out Audio Forum's Whole World Language Catalog, which offers more than 270 cassettes, videos and CD-ROMs, plus ethnic music tapes and classic films, in almost 100 languages. All the films have English subtitles--use them to see how you're doing.
Neighborhoods rule in Tokyo. The locals prefer Roppongi for the discos and live music. Shinjuku is the red-light district gone upscale, but massage parlors and spas (legitimate and otherwise) still line the alleys. Ginza draws tourists with trendy restaurants, pubs, cafés and hostess bars. Many of the popular nightspots in these neighborhoods have mandatory cover and service charges, so take enough money. If you've chosen Roppongi, start with cocktails and live jazz at Birdland, a cozy, candlelit club in the basement of the Square Building (3-10-3 Roppongi). In Ginza, stroll pub to pub (there are hundreds of them). For terrific sushi and sashimi, stop in Fukuzushi (5-7-8 Roppongi). Traditional Japanese cuisine is served at Kamon restaurant in the Imperial Hotel (1-1-1 Uchisaiwai-cho, Hibiya, near Ginza) or try one of Tokyo's German beer halls, such as the Sapporo Lion (7-9-20 Ginza). But the ultimate Nipponese dining experience may be kaiseki, a series of morsels served in intricate boxes and bowls. To experience it, make a reservation at Takamura (3-4-27 Roppongi), but be prepared to drop $200 per person. For cheaper fare, visit a yakitori-ya, such as Atariya (3-5-17 Ginza), where grilled chicken and beer are served. Some dance clubs stay open until five A.M. Most geisha bars are closed to foreigners (unless you're with a local), but there are plenty of hostess bars, where the price of a cocktail ($10 and up) buys you a pretty but platonic drinking companion. Club Maiko (7-7-6 Ginza) is especially friendly to foreigners and the cover charge (about $80 per person) includes a couple drinks, snacks and a dance show. Hostesses' drinks are extra, of course.
The pagodas and cloud-piercing peaks of Nepal have lured travelers since the Himalayan nation opened up in the Fifties. You can plan your own two-week trip for as little as $3500 and engage in such activities as trekking, white-water rafting and festival-hopping. Visit Kathmandu for the Nepali new year this spring or the Tihar and Dasain festivals in October. Tihar, the festival of lights, pays homage to the goddess of wealth while Dasain is the festival of Durga goddess worship. During these celebrations, processions fill the streets and the nights are bright from oil lamps. (During Dasain, everyone gets slathered with paint and goats' blood. You've been warned.) For the best of the festivals, check visitnepal.com on the Web, then buy a round-trip ticket and stay at the posh Yak and Yeti Hotel. For a 15-day tour of "classic Nepal," call Geographic Expeditions in San Francisco at 800-777-8183. The cost is $2600 excluding airfare.
Mulholland Brothers' new California Safari line is great luggage, whether you're headed up the Zambezi or catching a Concorde. "We're the last American company to build bent-wood-framed suitcases by hand," says company present Jay Holland. The two styles pictured here, from the Long Bound Collection, are the International Trolley with wheels and a retractable handle ($1760) and a 36-inch suitcase fitted with removable wheels and a pull strap ($1485). Both are covered in rugged, waterproof canvas and have leather straps and trim. Hardware is solid brass. • Phonecoat by Foggy Notion is a phone case in nylon or leather that slips on your belt horizontally. It's priced at $13 to $20. For another $6 you can get a Tag-Along strap for it that attaches your Phonecoat to golf bags, etc. • The 1056-page World Travel Guide, 17th edition is the travel industry's best-selling destination publication and a must for anyone with wanderlust. Every country in the world is covered (there are more than 150 pages on the U.S. alone) and information is included on visa and passport requirements. Price: $159.
For more than 20 years, Atlantic Records' house photographer Lee Friedlander produced some of the most famous publicity shots, album covers and artist portraits in the music business. These remarkable photos are collected in American Musicians (D.A.P.). The legends of jazz, blues, R&B and gospel are all here--Aretha, Miles, Ella, Mahalia, Sinatra. An exhibition of these photographs has already been moved from New York to San Francisco.
In his eighth novel, Angels Flight (Little, Brown), best-selling author Michael Connelly brings back Harry Bosch, the solemn Los Angeles police detective whose earlier exploits earned Connelly an Edgar award from the Mystery Writers of America. This time, a wiser, more mature Bosch is assigned to head a highly charged investigation into the murder of a prominent black attorney who was a hero to many (and an enemy to cops) for winning huge settlements in police-brutality cases. Facing pressure from every conceivable angle while the streets of South Central Los Angeles simmer under the spotlights of TV helicopters, Bosch realizes he must first solve the murder of a leading citizen's young daughter to unravel this current case. Connelly draws on his experience as a crime reporter for the Los Angeles Times to present a vivid, convincing picture of the inner workings of the LAPD. In this deftly plotted tale in which the suspense builds to an artful conclusion, Connelly elevates the police procedures to a higher standard and moves to the top of the class of contemporary police crime writers.
It's easy to slag Bret Easton Ellis for his cartoonish take on gore or his breathless chronicling of vapid pop culture. What's missing in the criticism is that he's a talented writer who may have a great book in him but who seems unable to make the effort to write it. Expect his new book, Glamorama (Knopf), to get trashed for its obsession with the world of models. Ellis drops a hundred names in the first 23 pages alone. About 150 pages in, just as you're about to throw the book across the room, Glamorama turns surreal and violent. The antihero Victor falls in with a crowd of bomb-throwing models-turned-terrorists. He also begins making mysterious references to a director and a screenwriter who appear to be controlling the plot and his life. Of course--a movie! Word (Warner Books) by Coerte V.W. Felske is the book Ellis didn't want to write. It's a straightforward satire of Star Camp, USA, Felske's term for the movie colony. His narrator, Heywood Hoon, is a winning and wicked Ivy League prepster trying to conquer Hollywood. He's a screenwriter, and things are going miserably except for his not-so-little black book of gorgeous LA women. Felske does a great job with female characters, and his playful language introduces strugs (struggling actors), WAMs (waitress-actress-model) and noguls (wannabe movie moguls). Felske also has one eye on the screen, still, sometimes a book is meant to be just a good read, and we're grateful for it.
Looking for something to take the boredom out of commuting or jogging? Audio publishers are offering an earful of murder and money and even a laugh or two. In James Patterson's When the Wind Blows (Time Warner), read by actor Blair Brown, a newly widowed veterinarian and an FBI agent battle evil scientists engaged in dark DNA experiments. Stephen King's Bag of Bones (Simon & Schuster), about a blocked writer who returns to the summer home he shared with his late wife, is already a best-selling book. Now King's twangy narration adds an authentic New England touch to this unabridged, 22-hour rendition of his special blend of small-town horror and human endurance. James W. Hall's Body Language (Brilliance) takes a mere ten unabridged hours to fill us in on Alexandra Rafferty, who, more than a decade ago at the age of 13, killed the man who raped her. Haunted by that experience, she's now a Miami police photographer with a particular fascination with a serial rapist. Hall's welcome departure from series books is enhanced by Laural Merlington's multiaccented rendition. Ed McBain's gruff narration aids and abets his latest 87th Precinct police story, The Big Bad City (Audio Renaissance). But listeners should beware of Blue Light (Time Warner) by Walter Mosley. The author has temporarily deserted his splendid Easy Rawlins crime series for a New Age allegory about people whose consciousness is raised by a mysterious blue light and an inscrutable Gray Man determined to destroy them. In this audio adaptation, at least, the plot seems little more than a string of violent, grotesque sequences leading to an ambiguous conclusion. Stock market success is the subject of The Motley Fool's Rule Makers, Rule Breakers (Simon & Schuster), in which Wall Street gurus Tom and David Gardner offer their unique theories on investments (for more foolery, see this month's 20 Questions). Marketing expert Jeffrey J. Fox lays down the rules for corporate ladder-climbing in CEO: The Rules for Rising to the Top of Any Organization (Audio Renaissance). And Richard Carlson's Don't Sweat the Small Stuff at Work (Simon & Schuster) suggests ways to minimize workplace stress while maximizing productivity. Finally, Steve Martin's Pure Drivel (Simon & Schuster) is a pure delight. The popular actor spent three years away from cameras, penning plays, skits and these humorous essays, which reflect his superb timing and dead-on delivery. Consider the bizarre medication warnings in Side Effects: "Men may experience impotence, but only during intercourse. Otherwise, a powerful erection will accompany your daily walking-around time."
To call Edward Jackowski opinionated is an understatement. The 39-year-old owner of Exude, a company that specializes in one-on-one fitness, authored Hold It! You're Exercising Wrong, a book that disputes almost everything you've heard about working out. He also claims his trademarked fitness regimen based on body types is "the only program in existence designed to help a person improve his shape." Normally we'd dismiss such egotism, but the truth is the program works (we've tried it)--and it is unique. In an industry notorious for offering generic advice, he's precise about what you need to do to get in shape. And it doesn't require taking aerobics classes, using flashy gym equipment or paying for a personal trainer. To fine-tune your physique, you simply need to know which exercises are most effective for your body type and then commit one hour at least three days per week to performing them. Jackowski's routine, it's worth remembering, will not transform you into Mr. Universe. It's not about building hulkish muscles, but rather is designed to improve definition and proportion. Follow the rules and Jackowski guarantees you'll see measurable results.
You could spend your life in the gym and still never score a gig as an underwear model. The qualifications for that job are written in the DNA, says Dr. Mark Zukowski, a plastic surgeon in Chicago. "Most guys just don't have the genetic material," he says. But you can buy the look. New ultrasonic liposuction techniques make it possible for surgeons to sculpt you a six-pack. Still, "most guys just want to eliminate their midriff bulge," says Dr. Zukowski. According to the American Society of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons, liposuction is the most requested form of cosmetic plastic surgery among men, with 20,192 procedures performed in 1997 (an increase of more than 200 percent since the beginning of the decade). Eyelid lifts are next (14,037), followed by nose jobs (9118) and face-lifts (5067). The price of perfection: Liposuction of the abdomen will set you back between $1700 and $5000, depending on the surgeon and the girth that has to go. The pain factor: Zukowski had ultrasonic liposuction performed on his spare tire. This less-invasive technique, which melts the fat before removing it, offers a quicker recovery time than earlier forms of lipo. "I was back to work in three days," he says, comparing the pain to the muscle soreness that occurs after a really tough workout.
A decade ago we had the waning days of the junk bond, as practiced by Drexel Burnham Lambert and its salesman extraordinaire, Michael Milken. Now a new religion of riches spreads through Wall Street: so-called day-trading. Come with us for a visit to Broadway Consulting, one of a growing number of schools devoted to teaching how to capitalize on almost any situation where stocks move first one way, then the other.
My wife and I hang out with two other couples, one of whom has a pool table. We spend Saturday nights shooting pool and quaffing frosty beverages. A few months ago the women spent a Saturday at the mall while the guys prepared dinner. When the women returned, everyone ate and played the usual round of nineball. The drinks flowed and it didn't take much coaxing to get the women to change into their purchases from Victoria's Secret. We spent the rest of the evening shooting pool with three beautiful babes in lingerie. Lately, garter belts, corsets, catsuits, stockings and heels have become their uniforms for our weekly pool games. We men are starting to wonder where this all might lead but aren't sure how to move things along. Any suggestions? We offered to give the girls a long massage after next week's game. They told us to bring towels and massage oil just in case.--P.G., Brewster, Massachusetts
In the aftermath of Ken Starr's report, a reporter for The New York Times called Playboy. Her call was directed to the office of the Playboy Advisor. She wanted to know about the state of monogamy in the Nineties.
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Emeril Lagasse hits the stage to the type of whooping and hollering normally reserved for, say, Chris Rock or Eddie Vedder. Wearing a starched white coat and a toque, he hunches over a hunk of beef, which he gleefully pierces. Into the incisions he stuffs cloves of garlic. "Should we kick it up?" he asks, and a raucous audience of police and firemen yell back, "More! Yeah!"
It didn't matter that I was lying in my own blood, sweat and tears in a hospital bed. Nor did it matter that I was several hours removed from spinal surgery at New York Hospital--courtesy of an old football injury--and well into my umpteenth morphine-induced dream. All that mattered to my editors at the New York Daily News was that there had been a possible double homicide at Scores, the country's premiere strip club and the place I had made my home for the previous four years. When it came to Scores, I had an angle on everything--even murder. The phone call shook me awake, but not enough to grab the phone on the first ring. It's always like that when drugs are swimming through your blood--you need another ring or two to accept the duty of answering.
Admit it, you wish TV networks would show more strutting cheerleaders and fewer tense-coach-on-the-sideline shots. A lot more. You're not alone. The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders sell more posters than some NFL teams do. As Bonnie-Jill Laflin can tell you, becoming an NFL cheerleader is a singular feat. Bonnie-Jill is the Deion Sanders of the sidelines, the only woman to lead cheers for both Dallas and San Francisco. "It was a thrill to be a Cowboys Cheerleader, but I cherish the Super Bowl rings I got with the 49ers in 1994 and 1995," she says. Bonnie-Jill is the unofficial captain of her cheer unit, but she's not the only one with a Super Bowl ring. Carla McFarlan got one from the 1997-1998 Broncos, and you can see it if you stop by the health club in Colorado where Carla is athletic director. Vaneeda Trukowski is a former Hooters girl and Hawaiian Tropic model who became a Tampa Bay Bucs cheerleader. Want more? Go ahead and turn the page and cheer.
Suppose Pat Robertson is right. About everything: Bill Clinton is a sex-crazed, lying, drug-dealing mass murderer. Darwin was wrong. Secular public schools and palm readers are satanic. Disney World and all of greater Orlando are doomed for allowing "gay days." Homosexual behavior isn't just a sin: It's "the last step in the decline of Gentile civilization." The end days are here. He could be right. The Starr investigation has painted our nation's capital as Sodom and Gomorrah. In these dark days of terrorist bombings, nuclear proliferation, ethnic slaughter and Oval Office blow jobs, when the presidential seal has become a splotch of dry semen on a dress from the Gap, that dim light on the western horizon may just herald the approach of divine wrath and earthly doom. Ignore the signs at your peril. Pat has been warning us for years, hasn't he? And there have always been signs, for those willing to see, that Robertson and God are, well, tight. Without a doubt, the man has prospered. He took over a broken-down, debt-ridden TV studio in Portsmouth, Virginia 39 years ago and built it into an international broadcasting network. Robertson's venture into politics led to the creation in 1989 of the Christian Coalition, which has become the most formidable voice of the religious right. For a decade he has told us that America is going to hell in a hurry, and now, with X-rated impeachment hearings in the news, his day is at hand. He clearly has something going for him. Robertson knows exactly what that something is. Suppose, as he does, that God, the All-Knowing and Never-Ending Supreme Arbiter, Creator, Ruler, Fashioner and Artificer of the Universe, has been steering the Christian Broadcasting Network and has personally anointed avuncular Marion Gordon "Pat" Robertson to spread God's word. Then we're cooked. You and I. Assuming, that is, that my writing for and your reading this hedonistic magazine means we're not members of The 700 Club or born-again Christians in that heightened, touched-by-the-spirit sense Pat preaches. I myself am not, and even here in my fallen state I consider it my duty to warn those of you who are to promptly stop reading this. Cooked! Consider things from Pat's perspective: The world is in its last days. Washington, D.C. reels with tales of lust. Great natural upheavals regularly rock the planet, such as volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes and the storms of EI Nino. Social welfare indexes (the ones Robertson reads, anyway) are off the charts: violent crime, sexual promiscuity, abortion, divorce, spousal abuse, child abuse, drug use, religious persecution. "We are in a period of crisis," Robertson says, often. He is charged with sounding the warning and herding as many faithful as possible to the safe shores of charismatic Christianity. Speaking in tongues, healing by the laying-on of hands, having direct conversations with God and believing in the commonplace occurrence of miracles are among the tenets and practices that separate charismatic or Pentecostal Christians from other Fundamentalists, though all believe that every word in the Bible is literally true. Mainstream Catholics and Protestant denominations long ago stopped insisting that the world was created in seven days and that all living things on earth (save Noah and those on his ark) were destroyed by flood some 4000 years ago, bowing to overwhelming evidence to the contrary. These are the best-known archaic beliefs still embraced by Fundamentalists.
Dorothy Parker once said, "Hollywood is one place where you can die of encouragement." Well, no one ever encouraged me. For me, it was all failure. Failed actor, failed writer, failed waiter. Studio executives would call to reject scripts of mine that they hadn't even read. Their assistants called to reject scripts I didn't even write. The biggest Hollywood producers would call me over to their tables to reject the wrong appetizers I had brought them and to demand a different waiter.
Considering that "no taste, no smell," was the pitch used to sell "white whiskey" to a nation of bourbon drinkers, it's a wonder the spirit ever caught on. But the flavorlessness of vodka made it the perfect mixer for orange, tomato and clam juice, as well as for tonic, ginger beer and bouillon. In Straight Up or on the Rocks, a cultural history of American drink, William Grimes cites the theory that vodka found a home on Hollywood soundstages because it allowed stars "to drink on the set and still elude the sharp eyes (and nostrils) of studio spies." Once scorned, "wodka" or "water of life" (as the Poles originally referred to it) has become the best-selling spirit in the world. Furthermore, premium brands such as Stolichnaya Gold and Grey Goose have attained the status of single malt scotches. Almost no one orders just a vodka martini or vodka on the rocks. Drinkers must specify Ketel One, Tanqueray Sterling or one of several dozen other call vodkas on the market. These new spirits are distinguished from "white whiskey" by production factors, including the raw materials from which the vodkas are made (cereals, molasses, potatoes, water), the number of distillations and whether the final filtration process is through charcoal, granite or even diamond dust. Every vodka manufacturer has its formula for perfection, and the differences among brands are often subtle.
Once known as Cajun Man and Opera Man on Saturday Night Live, Adam Sandler left SNL four years ago for Hollywood. His first starring film, Billy Madison, became a cult hit. All-night Sandlerfests replayed his two X-rated albums. Were his records profane? Scatological? No. They were fucking dirty, and both went platinum. His star rose higher in 1995 when his goofy golf comedy, Happy Gilmore, shot on a $12 million budget, earned $40 million. Another film, Bulletproof, became number one at the box office. The Wedding Singer, co-starring Drew Barrymore, earned $80 million. In 1998 he released a third album, What's Your Name? Last November, The Wateroy opened with an astounding $39 million weekend. We sent freelancer Kevin Cook to talk with filmdom's newest cash cowboy.
I'm warning you," says Stacy Fuson as she sits down to a mozzarella salad and a plate of pot stickers in a Sunset Boulevard restaurant, "I eat a lot." But, then, she needs the nourishment. Ever since moving to Los Angeles from Tacoma, Washington two years ago, Stacy has been on the go--modeling, doing shows for Ocean Pacific swimwear, traveling the world, taking acting classes, appearing in a music video and on a couple of episodes of Baywatch, calling her mother every night and occasionally checking in with her boyfriend, who, inconveniently, lives in France.
In the summer and fall of 1962, Playboy published James Jones' powerful story of men at war, The Thin Red Line. Jones' novel continued his chronicle of American troops in the Pacific that began with From Here to Eternity, a book that brilliantly retold the days leading up to World War II. The Thin Red Line has endured, and today, nearly 40 years later, it is considered a classic. In fact, The Thin Red Line is the story that has coaxed one of Hollywood's most revered but reclusive directors, Terrence Malick, out of a 20-year hiatus. When The Thin Red Line first appeared in Playboy, in August, September and October 1962, the story of a group of American soldiers involved in the bloody battle to claim Guadalcanal from the Japanese (a battle in which Jones himself fought and was wounded) was viewed as bracing proof that the writer had rebounded from a disappointing second novel, Some Came Running. It reaffirmed his position as a voice as profanely eloquent as any other to emerge in the mid-20th century. "The Thin Red Line moves so intensely and inexorably that it almost seems like the war it is describing," wrote Maxwell Geismar in The New York Times. If anyone can do justice to Jones' words, it would be someone like Malick, one of the screen's true visionaries. The Rhodes scholar, former journalist and philosophy professor has made only two prior films: 1973's Badlands, an unsettlingly poetic depiction of two teenagers on a murder spree, and the unbearably gorgeous and disquieting 1978 epic Days of Heaven. After those movies, Malick became a recluse; scattered reports had him traveling the world, studying Buddhism and living in Austin, Texas. But a pair of movie producers got him interested in The Thin Red Line. After he wrote a script and received the blessing of Jones' widow, Gloria Jones, he agreed to direct his first film in two decades. Actors clamored to work with him; the cast includes Woody Harrelson, Sean Penn, John Travolta, George Clooney, Nick Nolte and John Cusack.
Comes a time in a guy's life when his girlfriend will slide into a pair of his jeans, roll the waistband low on her hips and head for the door. Her scheme to walk off with your jeans won't work. A guy gives away his jeans only when they don't fit. And these days there is no excuse for buying jeans that don't look perfect on you. To save you the trouble, we road tested dozens of pairs--from ball-busters to over-size baggies. First, we judged them on color, gauge of denim, pocket stitching and, most important, fit. Next, we knocked them around a bit before we gave them to our model to play with. Then we took them back. (Sorry, darling.) These (concluded on page 144)Jeans(continued from page 114) are the best jeans out there. Regardless of your body type, you should be able to find a pair that suits you. In your quest, keep these rules in mind: Levi's are the mother of all jeans. When they fit properly, classic five-pocket Levi's are the jeans of choice. Dark is delicious. Though our model is human Viagra, you're not experiencing a side effect. Dark blue rules. Roll up the leg of a pair of dark jeans to show a three- to four-inch cuff and you have the most popular look today. Remember the cold-water blues. To keep the color of your new pants, turn them inside out and throw them in a cold-water wash. Don't launder them after every wearing (but you don't need to be told that). If you screw up, don't worry--as summer approaches, lighter blue denim will be in style. Take the straight and narrow. Unless you're raving every weekend, wear straight legs with just enough room to accommodate boots. Now prepare to meet your new best friends. (1) Straight-leg, selvaged denim button-fly jeans. Manufacturer: Polo Jeans Co., Ralph Lauren. Price: $98. Fit: This pair rides high on the butt but is looser in the thighs. Go a size up in the inseam to get the four-inch cuff. (2) Vintage-style button-fly jeans. Manufacturer: Lucky Brand Dungarees. Price: $68. Fit: These pants are looser all over--good for a gym rat who needs room in the thighs, calves and butt. A tag under the fly says Lucky You. Our model's call? "These button-fly studs are a lot of work, but they're sexy as hell." Back at ya. (3) Dark denim jeans. Manufacturer: A/X Armani Exchange. Price: $78. Fit: The lightweight denim is prewashed, and there's enough room in the seat and thigh for comfort. (4) Preshrunk 501 button-fly jeans. Manufacturer: Levi Strauss & Co. Price: $50. Fit: Levi's have been around since 1873. Ralph, Calvin and Tommy wore them, then based their own jeans on the classic 501 style. (5) Shrink-to-fit 501 buttonfly jeans. Manufacturer: Levi Strauss & Co. Price: $50. Fit: You need to go about three inches larger in the waist to shrink to fit and more than five inches longer in the inseam to cuff them. (6) Stone-washed jeans. Manufacturer: CK Calvin Klein Jeans. Price: $50. Fit: Nothing came between Brooke and her Calvins in the Seventies, and not much has changed. These jeans have a slim, Western fit. (7) Dark basic jeans. Manufacturer: Diesel. Price: $99. Fit: These are slim in the legs and hug the butt. The denim is heavy. (8) Classic zip-fly jeans. Manufacturer: Tommy Jeans. Price: $50. Fit: These jeans rise high on the behind, and the slim leg won't fit over a boot. Like all Tommy Jeans, they have a cool hangtag that shows how the pants should fit you.
Seen from a chairlift, the halfpipe looks like a colony apart from the slopes, an encampment of the Hey Dude tribe dedicated to the pursuit of aerobatic hang time. Riders fly down a monster-sized ditch carved into the snow, soaring up the sides and into the air, attempting tricks that would put mere mortals in traction. The stereotype is that the halfpipe is Slackerville, populated by goateed and pierced Mountain Dew drinkers who sleep in dope-smoky vans in Pizza Hut parking lots. The truth is that you'll find some of the best riders on the mountain in the pipe. Pierced maybe, but they are clean and lucid. Shredhead lingo--please don't say "bitchin', dude"--and army surplus pants with duct tape accents are passé. Ross Powers, 20-year-old Olympic bronze medalist at Nagano, now counts Polo Sport among his sponsors. How radical is that? "The perception is of a hard-core clique, but you'll find a diverse group of snowboarders at the halfpipe today," says Kurt Hoy, a rider for 13 years and an editor at Snowboard Life magazine. "To many boarders, mastering the halfpipe is part of being a good all-round rider, as important as carving groomed runs and floating in the powder." According to Hoy, the biggest lure of the halfpipe is "that feeling of weightlessness as you go vertical at high speeds." But the experience is also about camaraderie, about urging your buds through the long and sometimes painful process of learning a new move. Rookie riders are almost universally welcomed. If you're ready to give it a try, or just want to get dialed to the scene, here's a short guide to pipe culture. Halfpipe History: Legend has it that the first snowboard halfpipe was actually a natural gully discovered by a group of riders in the early Eighties near California's Tahoe City dump. Tom Sims, a snowboard pioneer and skateboard pro, constructed the first groomed "halfpipe ravine" in 1983 at Soda Springs, California for a world championship event. From that point on, downhill, alpine-style snowboard racing was considered snoozeville compared to the freestyle tricks and maneuvers being performed in the pipe. So the subculture grew. Dig It: Early halfpipes were roughed out with backhoes and Sno-Cat tractors and hand-packed by crews with shovels. Today, they're created with special groomers such as the Pipe Dragon and the Bombardier Half-Pipe Grinder, which are mounted on Sno-Cats and produce a pipe uniform in shape, top to bottom. The process can take several days, according to halfpipe designer Pat Malendoski of Planet Design and Consulting. "A good halfpipe is as smooth as a swing," he says. "You should flow through a nice arc from side to side. While every pipe is a little different, specifications have been created for competitions. An Olympic-caliber pipe has an inclination of about 18.5 degrees, is 110 meters (361 feet) long, 15 meters (49 feet) wide and five meters (16 feet) high, with the last foot of the wall a near-vertical 85 degrees. To put that into perspective, picture a football field with a trough carved down the middle that's as deep as a single-story building. Trick Bag: This is what the pipe is all about--radical maneuvers, big air and hang time in a league with Michael Jordan. Most halfpipe tricks and their names come from skateboarding. Frontside describes a maneuver that begins on the toe edge of the board, while backside is one that starts on the heel edge. A grab involves reaching down and grasping the board. Skaters do this to keep the board close to their feet. For snowboarders, it's strictly a style thing, as the board is attached to their boots. Two basic airborne moves are the method grab and the indy. To perform the former, riders bring the board up behind them while bending their knees, arching their back and grabbing the heel edge of the board. An indy is a grab of the toe-side edge with your trailing hand on your backside wall. Spins are described by the number of degrees of rotation, from 360 to 720 and beyond. Fakie is simply riding backward, or tail first. So when Canadian pro Michael Michalchuck lands his signature "frontside double-backflip method grab to fakie," he's going up the wall on his toe edge and high into the air, flipping backward once while grabbing his heel edge, flipping again and then landing on his heel edge going tail first. Piece of cake. Number Crunching: Most pipe riders are between the ages of 16 and 23. There are about 200 resorts in the U.S. with at least one halfpipe. Pros can squeeze six to nine hits (runs to the lip of a pipe) into a single pass. High-flying pro Terje Haakonsen (concluded on page 144)Life in the Halfpipe(continued from page 118) from Norway lofts 14 to 15 feet above the lip of the pipe. Guillaume Chastagnol of France is the acknowledged pro spin-master, having landed a 1440--that's four times around. • There are more than 100 halfpipe competitions held each year. Upwards of 10,000 people attended the halfpipe event at the 1998 U.S. Open Snowboarding Championships, the nation's oldest boarding competition, held annually at Stratton Mountain in Vermont. More than 2.3 million people tuned in to ESPN and ESPN2 last January to watch the 1998 X Games halfpipe competition. More than 165 million fans in 178 countries watched the rebroadcast. Bone Crunching: Dr. Peter Janes of Vail-Summit Orthopedics has cataloged more than 7400 snowboard injuries in Colorado over a ten-year span. The most common injury (20 percent) is a fractured or sprained wrist, usually caused by reaching to break a backward fall. Other injuries include ankle sprains and fractures (14 percent) from catching a toe edge, knee ligament damage (12 percent) from jumping, and closed (i.e., bloodless) head injuries (2.6 percent).
Brothers David and Tom Gardner wanted to loosen what they perceived as Wall Street's grip on investment information. Their principal tool: the Internet, where investors can share advice and compare strategies.
Witty, wicked, a bit wiggy--she is Pamela. Discovered by Playboy, Miss February 1990 became the sex goddess of our times--provocative, controversial, alluring. Of all the heavenly bodies to grace these pages, Pamela Anderson rules the decade. On the occasion of her eighth cover, we were invited to her home for an intimate session.
Below is a list of retailers and manufacturers you can contact for information on where to find this month's merchandise. To buy the apparel and equipment shown on pages 24--25, 26, 35, 37, 91, 114--115, 144 and 171, check the listings below to find the stores nearest you.
Satellite subscribers understand the rush you get the first time you power up a 200-channel television system. With the press of a button, it's TV nirvana. Seven HBOs. Forty-two movie channels. More sports than your office pool can afford. Playboy TV around the clock. But reality hits before you can say "Night Calls at ten." Little things like your job, dinner with friends, the golf league--life, basically--make it impossible to enjoy all the programming you're paying for. And even if you're wired for just the free stuff (i.e., broadcast television), it can be a challenge to catch the shows you want, when you want.