Sex Scandals make big headlines. Think Anita Hill. Think Gennifer Flowers, Paula Jones and Monica Lewinsky. In Playboy's History of the Sexual Revolution, Part X,James R. Petersen highlights the encounters that rocked the world—and nearly toppled a president—in the Nineties. Even if we didn't respect Bill Clinton in the morning, his bad judgment got us talking—about penises, oral sex, cigars and orgasms. With this installment Petersen brings his chronicle of American sexuality to a close. If you want to know how we got here, Grove Press just published Petersen's The Century of Sex: Playboy's History of the Sexual Revolution, with an introduction by Mr. Sexual Revolution himself, Hugh M. Hefner.
Playboy (ISSN 0032-1478), November 1999, Volume 46, Number 11, 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 60611 (312-751-8000); West Coast: SD Media, 2001 Wilshire Boulevard, Suite 200, Santa Monica, CA 90403 (310-264-7575); Southeast: Bentz & Maddock Inc., 5180 Roswell Road, Suite 102, South Building, Atlanta, GA 30342 (404-256-3800); For subscription inquiries, Call 800-999-4438.
The nine bands that appear on Help Us Get High (Shanachie) have seen the future of rock, and they think it's kind of Phishy. That's as in Phish, the Vermont improvisers who've become the current answer to the Grateful Dead. The Dead drew on blues, folk and other traditional forms of American music. Phish acolytes Hosemobile and Jiggle the Handle rely on jam-friendly modern Afro-beat, reggae and James Brown funk for their grooves. Mixed with a little Miles and a touch of Zappa, these songs float you into the zone.
Never Count out the great ones. Cold Hard Truth (Asylum), George Jones' umpteenth album, proves this conclusively. Jones, the greatest living country singer, has never made a bad album in his 40-year career. But he hasn't made one this good since working with producer Billy Sherrill ten years ago. At times, this album's producer, Keith Stegall, veers close to just remaking those old discs, with their beautifully understated string arrangements. The title track is pretty much He Stopped Loving Her Today with new lyrics, and Our Bed of Roses reprises A Good Year for the Roses. But those are two of the greatest records Jones ever made, and are well worth replicating. Ain't Love a Lot Like That is the most effective up-tempo honky-tonk Jones has done since the late Sixties. Sinners and Saints somehow manages to combine honky-tonk music with a gospel message of tolerance and an assault on smalltown gossip. But the real brilliance of the album is in the way Choices, Cold Hard Truth, You Never Know Just How Good You've Got It and When the Last Curtain Falls convey a boozer's confessions. This is autobiographical music Jones has never before even hinted at making. He can break your heart just singing the word fool. When he sings it with a finger pointed at himself, it doubles the pleasure and pain. [For more George, see 20 Questions, page 122.]
Albert King With Stevie Ray Vaughan: In Session (Stax) documents an extraordinary 1983 jam session featuring two great blues stylists. Vaughan had just released his debut album and gained worldwide exposure playing on David Bowie's comeback hit Let's Dance. He'd been invited to jam with King, his hero, on the Canadian TV show In Session. White bluesmen always sang the praises of Muddy Waters and B.B. King, but it was Albert King's style they mimicked. Eric Clapton made Robert Johnson's Crossroads a hit, but he played it like King, with the screaming bends and stinging high notes that were Albert's trademark. King felt honored, but also ripped off, by the admiration. So he wasted no time in letting his latest protégé know how he felt about Stevie's work with Bowie: "I heard you doing all my shit on there." Stevie kept his head down and followed Albert's lead through a smoldering version of Stormy Monday and four other blues standards. King is clearly moved by the intensity of Vaughan's playing as they trade leads as though they've been on the road together for years. After incendiary romps through Vaughan's Pride and Joy and a challenge from King to "play like Hendrix"—which Stevie pulls off—King beams like a proud father. He even admits he's ready to turn over his legacy to Vaughan. It's the emotional climax of the most impressive cross-generational blues summit. For a full dose of Albert's seminal genius, pick up Blues Masters: The Very Best of Albert King (Rhino). This retrospective contains his classic Crosscut Saw, Born Under a Bad Sign and Blues Power, with King's searing leads backed by Booker T. and the MGs.
Kim Richey writes catchy songs, but her introspectiveness takes her out of country and into the realm of Lilith Fair. Successful at writing for others (most notably Radney Foster and Trisha Year-wood) but unsuccessful with her own first two albums, Richey scores as a pop diva with her third, Glimmer (Mercury). These 14 tunes have so many hooks that you'll be hitting replay all day while wondering, With a voice like that, why did she ever write for anybody else? She hits all the notes with a bell-like resonance and startling accuracy, projecting a vulnerability that allows her meanings to work at different levels. Even when she's professing optimism (Can't Lose Them All), she has a quaver of sadness that betrays a darker reality. Bleak isn't the point, though. Emotional truth is the point, and that's what this music offers.
Jack Knight is a New York–based singer-songwriter whose debut, Gypsy Blues (Universal), successfully melds R. Kelly's ballad style with more traditional and progressive aspects of R&B. That sounds like a hodgepodge, but Knight brings it off with a soulful vocal style and well-arranged tracks. In particular, the bass and guitar throughout Gypsy Blues are funky and tasteful. Who Do You Love, the tale of a woman torn between love and addiction, has a strong Seventies flavor. Blueberry Winter echoes early Prince. Ooh I Love It has a great vibrant bass line that recalls disco without being clichéd. The title cut is a down-tempo track on which Knight delivers a sweet Michael Jackson–like vocal. My favorite is The Cross, with its dirty drum sound, bluesy guitar and evocative vocal. I could have done without the cover of the Time's Gigolos Get Lonely Too; Knight sings it a little too seriously. Still, Gypsy Blues is one of the most impressive debuts of 1999.
What a concept: a gorgeous voice and a gorgeous melody. That's what you'll get from Patricia O'Callaghan's Slow Fox (Marquis Classics), an exploration of cabaret singing. Even if you're not yet a cabaret fan, O'Callaghan will break (or steal) your heart in those late-night moments.
A lot of Philip Glass' recent recorded music has been disappointing. But two new CDs remind us what he is capable of. Dracula (Nonesuch), a score Glass composed for the rerelease of the Bela Lugosi classic, features brilliantly sympathetic work by the Kronos Quartet. Aguas da Amazonia (Point) comes perilously close to New Age, but this performance by the Brazilian group Uakti is magically inspired. While Dracula evokes Transylvania and Aguas conjures up the rain forest, both show us how wonderfully expansive and universal Glass' music can be.
Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes Department: New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art will feature an exhibit exploring the links between rock and fashion. It begins December 9 and runs until March, when it will move to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland until September 2000.
Only hip-hop obsessives can track the comings and goings of the Wu-Tang Clan, whose members have generated over a dozen albums since Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) laid out the Staten Island street agenda in 1993. In 1999 alone the Wu has thrown up the all-new Wu-Chronicles hodgepodge on its own Wu-Tang label, as well as the second solo project by GZA/Genius, Beneath the Surface (MCA). This obscure and enticing manifesto adds the balm of some female voices—a welcome touch. But that doesn't mean outsiders are liable to brave its imaginative surface. The RZA Hits (Epic) is a welcome solution to this problem. RZA is Wu-Tang's master producer, inventor of the signature sound that added kung fu dialogue, piano and orchestral washes to the funk. On this compilation, RZA cherry-picks the most accessible creations from both Enter the Wu-Tang and the solo work of Method Man, Raekwon, Ol' Dirty Bastard and—my favorite—Ghostface Killah. Musically simple by Wu standards, but long on jokes, boasts, come-ons and stories, these street anthems rationalize the collective's survivalist, postgangsta, Black Muslim–derived ethos with poetry and moral dignity. Ghostface Killah sums it up thus: "The truth in the song be the pro-black teaching."
Steven Soderbergh is incapable of making an uninteresting film. His latest, The Limey (Artisan), is a modest effort about a British criminal who goes to Los Angeles seeking revenge for the death of his daughter. Casting is one of the movie's strong suits: Terence Stamp stars as a gutsy loner who will not be deterred and even appears in his own flashbacks (footage from the 1967 Kenneth Loach film Poor Cow). Peter Fonda plays the high-living sleaze who was involved with the daughter, and Barry Newman is his strong-arm sidekick. Soderbergh makes excellent use of offbeat LA locations and employs a showy, nonlinear editing technique. Still, at the core, the story isn't all that compelling. [rating]2-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
It's not every actor who chooses to I walk away from a secure job on a hit TV series. But Jennifer Esposito left Spin City after a two-year run as New York mayor Barry Bostwick's secretary with the Brooklyn accent. "My parents said, 'Why, Jennifer? You're getting a raise this year.' I've never worked with such a nice group of people, but it was time to move on. They were kind enough to let me leave, which I thank them for, because they could have said no. But they knew I wanted to experience different roles, and maybe do a play again, and on a sitcom you don't have the time."
We all like Westerns, especially if they're made by Europeans. Outlaws (Sin City) is an extravagant adult movie filmed in Madrid and Marbella, Spain that features beautiful women and the always forthcoming Rocco Siffredi. If we remember the plot right, this Joe D'Amato film tells the tale of a town under siege by a band of sex-crazed renegades. When the town cries out for help, Rocco saves the day and savors the town's appreciation—sometimes two citizens at once. But this film isn't about justice; it's about lusty, silly, epic sex, and it takes care of that business very well.
"If it isn't a killer movie right off the bat, I just can't stay glued to the television," says World Wrestling Federation champion Stone Cold Steve Austin. So what kind of flicks stun the creator of the neck-wrangling "stunner" maneuver? "I'm a big fan of Westerns," reveals the south Texas native. "Cool Hand Luke, any of the old Clint Eastwood spaghetti Westerns and all John Wayne films. I also like old horror movies, the ones with Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi." Austin also goes for big laughs. "I like slapstick and broad comedy, like I'm Gonna Git You Sucka and Blazing Saddles," says Austin. "That one gets better each time I see it."
Craven imagery: We enjoy a good scare, but New Line's Platinum Series boxed set of the seven Nightmare on Elm Street films ($130) may be too much of a good thing. Director Wes Craven offers commentaries on the opening and closing chapters in the series—A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) and Wes Craven's New Nightmare (1994), arguably the two best— and all of the films benefit from digital remastering and wide-screen presentation. Vlad tidings: Watch out for the trio of vampire flicks from Image by French director Jean Rollin. In The Shiver of the Vampires (Le Frisson des Vampires, 1970), The Demoniacs (Les Démoniaques, 1973) and Fascination (1979), Rollin brings Gallic elegance to his low-budget endeavors. That, and lots of sensual lesbian lovemaking. The best news is that Image will be releasing Louis Feuillade's ten-episode silent serial Les Vampires (1915) next year. Already available on videotape from Water Bearer Films (waterbearer.com, 800-551-8304), the seven-hour epic features the vampy villainess Irma Vep—a serenely sexy femme fatale who would even have us rooting against Buffy.
After a five-year break, Sara Paretsky's great gumshoe, V.I. Warshawski, is back on the prowl, in Hard Time (Delacorte). Known for sticking her nose into interesting places (from deep tunnels to Great Lakes locks), V.I. finds herself in a privately run women's prison outside Chicago. The plot involves movie stars, merchandising rights and, of course, murder. In Walkin' the Dog (Little Brown), Walter Mosley brings back one of the most fascinating characters in crime fiction, Socrates Fortlow. He is an aging ex-convict who lives in a two-room shack in an alley in Watts, unloads groceries at a local market and tries to navigate a lawless world. He's an outsider, not unlike Andrew Vachss' Burke in New York City. But where Burke, who recently reappeared in Choice of Evil (Knopf), is a tightly wound sociopath, Socrates is a philosopher. Walkin' the Dog explores his rage and hope, and what one man can accomplish. Knopf has also published Nightmare Town, 20 previously uncollected stories by Dashiell Hammett. Hammett perfected his craft in the pages of Black Mask, and then set the mark with his novels The Maltese Falcon, Red Harvest, The Dain Curse and The Glass Key. Hammett's Continental Op and the Thin Man first appear in these stories. They still fascinate us. Evil doesn't age.
Macmillan Publishing says, "It's OK to do it the lazy way," with a series of Lazy Way guides that stand out from other how-to books. The idea is to help you get stuff done without expending too much energy. If you don't know the difference between calipers and a crankshaft, Take Care of Your Car the Lazy Way offers tips to eliminate breakdowns—both the car's and yours—and to free you from spending quality time with your mechanic. Moving from the garage to the home, Organize Your Stuff includes a room-by-room plan to conquer clutter and turn piles of paper into efficient files. The recipes in Cook Your Meals are so easy you won't break a sweat. If you're lazy enough to use instant mashed potatoes, here are three things to remember: Make them with milk instead of water, disguise them with other food groups, and if you keep the flakes more than 18 months, know you're living on the edge. If your idea of saving money is collecting coins from under the couch cushions, it's time to make sense of your dollars with Handle Your Money and Build Your Financial Future. No matter how complex the job, it can be done the lazy way—unless you're too lazy to read the book.
To fit more books into your busy life, just press play, advises the Audio Publishers Association. But how to separate the good stuff from the earaches? Look to the reader. Some authors are their own best interpreters. There couldn't be a better narrator than Frank McCourt for 'Tis (Simon & Schuster Audio), the sequel to his Pulitzer Prize-winning autobiography, Angela's Ashes. Eddie Fisher hits the high and low notes of his own off-key life on Been There, Done That (Dove Books Audio). And could anyone match Harlan Ellison's furious yet mesmerizing rendition of I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream (Dove Books Audio), the first in a best-of-Ellison series? Not that performers don't know their way around a mike. Brian Dennehy lends considerable vocal presence to Ernest Hemingway's True at First Light (Simon & Schuster Audio), a semifictional tale about Ernest and his wife Mary on a lion hunt in Kenya. They argue, shoot, drink and argue some more in a rambling first draft that's short on structure and long on atmosphere, punchy dialogue and, surprisingly, humor. Dick Hill gives voice to a variety of middle-class Floridians and the two Jersey hit men who disrupt their ennui in humorist Dave Barry's first novel, Big Trouble (Brilliance Audio). The reissue this month of Ambush at Fort Bragg (BDD Audio), Tom Wolfe's satiric novelette (now available only in audio format), depends heavily on Edward Norton's nuanced narration. It's a vicious study of devious, self-deluded television news types as they try to coax three soldiers into confessing on camera to gay-bashing and murder. Norton's splendid delineation of the warriors forms a sort of prequel to his Oscar-nominated turn in American History X. Eric Idle's droll delivery adds a Monty Python-like bite to his own comic science fiction adventure, The Road to Mars (Soundelux Audio). As the master of the wink-wink-nudge-nudge would have it, by the 22nd century, the red planet has become the showbiz capital of the universe. Idle's tale follows two comics and a robot as they travel through space, performing at outposts on their way to the big time. When Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy debuted, it was called Pythonesque. Now the circle is complete.
You know Jerry Stahl from his dark confessional Permanent Midnight, a memoir about his strung-out life as a drug user, which later became a Ben Stiller movie. Now, his novel Perv—A Love Story (Morrow) delivers characters that Stahl also seems to know intimately. He returns to the Seventies, when 15-year-old Bobby Stark's life (like Stahl's in Midnight) is plagued by demons. The boy's journey to self-discovery includes confrontations with a one-armed tattoo artist and his nymphomaniacal daughter, sex-crazed hippies and a grammar school crush (who has become a Hare Krishna convert) with whom he finds true love. Just like a mad dog, Perv sinks its teeth into you and does not let go. It's a powerful story.
Although American Pie may not be the greatest film in the world, it tells the ultimate truth about male sexuality. To put it bluntly, we are crazy for self-service sex, especially in our younger years.
"The epitome of peace and relaxation." "The world's most powerful aphrodisiac." Over the years, the accolades for Big Sur's Post Ranch Inn have been as special as the mist-clad vistas it overlooks. Several types of rooms are offered, including ocean, mountain, tree and coast. Each has its own charm. But whether you opt for an aerie by the sea or in the forest, the menu of spa services, body treatments and gourmet cuisine stays the same. End your day with a soak in your own private hot tub or in the communal basking pool that overlooks the Pacific. Rates range from $365 to $645 per night, double occupancy. Call 800-527-2200.
No bigger than a pack of smokes, the ultracool Nikon Nuvis S, with its stainless steel shell and now-you-see-it-now-you-don't lens housing, looks like a prop from Inspector Gadget or the next James Bond film. This advanced photo system camera offers three different print sizes and allows you to switch film midroll. You also get a 22.5mm to 66mm zoom lens, automatic film speed settings that range from ISO 50 to 1600, 30 different title selections in 12 languages and many other features. Price: about $300, in camera stores nationwide. A miniature shutter remote is an additional $20.
I've been with my boyfriend for eight months. The relationship is wonderful and the sex is awesome. The other night we engaged in anal sex, which we have both done before, but this time I had a total emotional breakdown. My orgasm was accompanied by a crying episode so intense it took us both by surprise. Everything was great and I didn't experience pain, but the tears came in buckets. Can you tell me if this is a normal reaction or why it happened?—T.G., Memphis, Tennessee
For the past three years I have experienced time travel, surrounding myself with words, photographs and film. When I told friends I was writing a history of the sexual revolution that would appear in ten parts in this magazine and later as a book, I always confessed that I couldn't wait to see how it would turn out.
The grassroots American Drivers Association wants you to know your rights. Its members are fed up with unwarranted police searches of big rigs and automobiles, so they're posting billboards like the one below, situated on interstate 20 at the Louisiana-Texas line. The association says it wants to make drivers aware of their right to refuse a search request without being detained. It hopes eventually to place billboards along every interstate in the country.
David Ziskind married Sybil Hart in 1980 in Miami. After a year, they had their first child, and then a second, both of them girls. Ziskind, a psychologist, worked in Philadelphia for most of 1987. When Sybil joined him there in January 1988, she was pregnant with a third girl.
It's 11 o'clock Friday morning and Jesse Ventura is at the microphone, headphones on, at Minneapolis radio station WCCO. He's preparing to spend an hour over the airwaves with his constituents. It's Lunch With the Governor, and the press and TV reporters are also there—they follow his every public move because, as one cameraman states, "You never know what Jesse is going to say." He begins with a tirade about lawn darts and how the federal government has banned them. "You can go down to your local gun dealer and buy a .44 magnum, but you can't buy a lawn dart," he says. "That's not my law, that's the federal law." He then takes on the movement to tear down the 17-year-old Metrodome, which could be replaced with a new stadium. After the show he talks to a journalist who asks him again about the stadium issue. He realizes that a new stadium will become a huge issue "because you run the risk of losing your professional teams to this blackmail." And he knows if that happens the governor will get blamed. "But you know what? This governor don't care. This governor will stand by his principles. I could understand building a new stadium if this stadium was 35 years old; but you didn't hear one complaint when we won the World Series in 1987 and 1991. Then they called it the Dome-field advantage. Now all of a sudden: 'We can't compete here.' They've got businesses that are out of whack like baseball, and then they think building a stadium is going to put them back in competition? If stadiums were a good deal, the private sector would be building them."
Are we having sex now or what? The question seems to float on the tongue. Greta Christina, a columnist for On Our Backs, first raises it in an essay in a volume called The Erotic Impulse: Honoring the Sensual Self. "What," she asks, "counts as having sex with someone?"
She is known as the Knockout, and for good reason. Since blasting into women's boxing in 1997, Mia St. John has earned a reputation as a formidable fighter, with one distinction: She looks more like a movie star than like an undefeated (12 wins, including seven knockouts) featherweight. "Female athletes don't have to look like men," St. John says. At the age of six, Mia took up tae kwon do. She competed as an amateur and considered training for the 2000 Olympics before deciding she was too old. "The only thing left to do was go pro, but I traded martial arts for boxing, the sport that, thanks to [superstar boxing pioneer] Christy Martin, is the most recognized women's combat sport." After watching St. John in the ring, it's clear she has found her niche. "Ever since I was 12, I wanted to be Rocky Balboa. I live, eat and breathe boxing." Considering St. John's success thus far, it's natural that she has her detractors. "Most female boxers hate me. People say I'm successful because of my looks. They say the same thing about Oscar De La Hoya. They're jealous. But I don't care. My posing can only help give women's boxing the recognition it deserves."
Successful dirt bike racers used to pitch motor oil and monkey wrenches. These days they star in music videos, computer games and TV ads. They're up to their ventilators in endorsements, and their next jump could land them on high-fashion runways. Dirt biking—motocross (the outdoor circuit) and supercross (the winter, indoor circuit)—has rounded a corner. Gritty and glamorous riding gear has been spotted on such hipsters as LL Cool J, Lyle Lovett and Sheryl Crow. This is no black leather jacket crowd—the motocross-inspired clothing on these pages is urban and street-friendly. Don't be surprised if you spot racing stripes and padding in emerging fashions by top designers. It's a phenomenon Davey Coombs, publisher of Racer X Illustrated and a former pro racer, calls "a mainstream milestone for the sport."
Cara Wakelin's mother made her do it. It was a cold day in October 1998, and when Cara's mom read that the Playboy 2000 Playmate search bus was coming to their hometown of Toronto looking for new Playmates, she urged her hesitant daughter to go for a photo test. Thank goodness she did.
A middle-aged couple had two beautiful teenage daughters. They decided to try one last time for the son that they had always wanted. After several months, the wife became pregnant and later delivered a healthy boy. The joyful father rushed to the nursery and was horrified to see the ugliest child he had ever imagined. "We have two beautiful daughters. How could this boy turn out to be so ugly?" he moaned. Then turning suspicious, he glared at his wife. "Have you been fooling around on me?"
How this started," Robbie Feaver said, "is not what you think. Morty and I didn't go to Brendan and say, 'Take care of us.' We didn't have anything to take care of, not to start with. Mort and I had been bumping along on workmen's comp and slip-and-fall cases. Then about ten years ago, even before Brendan was appointed Presiding Judge over there, we got our first real chance to score. It was a bad-baby case. Doc with a forceps treated the kid's head like a walnut. And it's the usual warfare. I got a demand of 2.2 million, which brings in the umbrella insurer, so they're underwriting the defense. They're making us spend money like there's a tree in the backyard. I've got to get medical experts. Not one. Four. OB. Anesthesia. Pedes. Neurology. And courtroom blowups. We've got $125,000 in expenses, way more than we can afford. We're into the bank for the money, Mort and me, with seconds on both our houses.
Horsepower. Tire-shredding, rubber-burning horsepower is what launched the American muscle-car era in the early Sixties. GTOs, 442s, Z28s, Boss 429s and other lean and hungry coupes with big-block engines were on the prowl, just itching for a fight. "She's real fine, my 409" and Little GTO played on the radio, but who could hear the lyrics over the rumble of a Hemi-Charger exhaust? Soon, real hot rods were mothballed because you could buy brand-new cars with at least 350 horsepower. But the golden age of horsepower didn't last long. Almost overnight, owning a gas-guzzler became the eighth deadly sin and the gloriously indulgent muscle car gave way to the fuel-efficient, front-wheel-drive snoozemobiles of the Eighties. But as the century ends, the American manufacturers who created the original cars are reawakening the raw thrill of pedal-to-the-metal. Ford, Pontiac and Chevrolet have introduced Mustang Cobra, Trans Am Firehawk and Camaro SS models that do everything but ease on down the road. You can't buy a 600-hp Nascar coupe that's street legal from your local dealer, but these rear-wheel-drive babies are the next best thing.
There's something about Sheryl Crow that makes men—even innocent men—feel guilty. For those who are guilty, namely the men who have done Crow dirt in past relationships, the "something" is clear whenever she launches into one of her impeccably crafted songs about male shortcomings: This song is about you, loser. What's more, exacting payback has been sweet for the 37-year-old Crow. Two of her three albums have gone multiplatinum, and she's nabbed six Grammys along the way, including Best New Artist and Record of the Year. Even Hollywood has taken notice—Crow contributed the theme song for the Bond flick Tomorrow Never Dies and a cover of the Guns n' Roses song Sweet Child o' Mine for Adam Sandler's Big Daddy. And she's not just singing in Tinseltown—she plays a junkie opposite boyfriend Owen Wilson in The Minus Man.
Quiet, please. He's on the first tee. After an obsequious official in shirt and tie introduces him and his opponent, another official whispers to the first fellow, "You forgot to introduce the marshals." Something to do with TV or the sponsors. The first guy looks puzzled, then nods his head. "I'll do it again," he says. The golfer on the first tee has been getting set to hit his drive. In his Tommy Hilfiger clothes, the shirt buttoned to the collar, and wraparound Oakley sunglasses, he doesn't look quite like most of the other men on the professional golf tour. His posture is comfortable; he seems so relaxed he could be waiting for a bus. He lets the strap on his Titleist hat hang loose from its buckle. Sometimes, too, a shirttail will appear from his waist, over his belt. But anyone mistaking this cool for casualness ought to be with him on the first tee, inside the ropes that keep the crowd from getting too close.
George Jones shouldn't be alive today. He should have used up all his luck. Yet here he is at 68 years old, 40 years after his first number one record. He's healthy and happy, with a splendidly landscaped 150-acre spread south of Nashville, a beautiful wife who is the love of his life, and an album climbing the charts and wowing a new generation of country music fans.
Last March, we saw the Academy Award for Best Picture go to Shakespeare in Love (1998 release, 1999 phenomenon), a sparkling romantic comedy that sets forth the proposition that love, desire, creativity, wit and nudity all spring from the same animating spirits.
Hurry, Annie ... Leo's show starts in the minutes!I'm sorry ... but I just love Paris ... it's such a sophisticated city ... even the children drink wine!Which explains why they grow up liking Mickey Rourke Jerry Lewis!
Justify My Love • Groove Is in the Heart • Nothing Compares 2 U • Suicide Blonde • The Humpty Dance • Friends in Low Places • Down at the Twist and Shout • It Only Hurts When I Cry • Been Caught Stealing • Crazy • She Talks to Angels • Kool Thing • Whip Appeal • Hold On • Free Fallin' • Feels Good • Two to Make It Right • Around the Way Girl
Sony's Glasstron (pictured on our model below) looks like a prop from the movie Matrix, but it's actually one of several new products designed to create a more intimate audio–video experience. To watch a movie in private during a flight from New York to Los Angeles, for example, you just connect the Glasstron (or the i-O Display Systems i-glasses pictured below) to a portable DVD player, strap on the headset and shut out the world. Both devices have stereo sound and an LCD panel that creates the illusion of watching a jumbo television screen from about six feet away. If your apartment is too small for a home theater speaker system, check out the Sennheiser DSP Pro ($270), which fits like a collar and simulates surround audio from any two-channel source. Want to rig your PC for multimedia sound? Sennheiser also offers the $300 computer Surrounder pictured below. Sony, Panasonic and Pioneer are just a few of the companies that make excellent CD players, cassette decks and AM-FM radios to go. However, if you want to turn heads, Aiwa makes the slickest models. Its XP-series CD players, which come with silver Swoop headphones that fit around the back of the head, are particularly easy on the eyes (and hair). Sony offers a variation of the Swoop with its Sports Discman and Walkman units, as does Panasonic with its Shockwave personal stereos. Finally, if you have to juggle phone calls while doing chores, several companies, including Thomson and Cobra, are introducing cordless phones equipped with headsets. Typically, these 900-megahertz models come with a headphone jack and a gadget that enables you to clip the handset to your belt when you're going mobile. For something more streamlined, try the General Electric option below. It's no bigger than the palm of your hand and is designed solely for hands-free talk.
Playboy (ISSN 0032-1478), November 1999, volume 46, number 11. Published monthly by Playboy in national and regional editions, Playboy, 680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Periodicals postage paid at Chicago, Illinois and at additional mailing offices. Canada Post Canadian Publications Mail Sales Product Agreement No. 56162. Subscriptions: in the U.S., 329.97 for 12 issues. Postmaster: Send address change to Playboy, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51537-4007. For subscription-related questions, e-mail email@example.com. Editorial: edit(aplayboy.com.