Think of Playboy as a runway and this issue as our Winter Collection. We have custom-tailored jazz coverage, pret-a-porter sports pieces and cheeky intimates. Opening the show is Naomi Campbell. A member of the supermodel pantheon, she has graced the cover of almost every women's magazine--and now she's on ours. Inside she sashays right out of her designerwear in a distinctly dressed-down pictorial shot by David LaChapelle. Visions of her sugarplums will be dancing in your head till Easter. For the soundtrack to your dreams turn to City Girls by Amy Sohn, inspired by HBO's all-female chatfest Sex and the City. We asked Sohn, who chronicled her own sex life in a New York paper and in her fictional Run Catch Kiss, whether we could believe what we heard on the HBO series. She gave us an earful. "My conversation with three friends was a little like sex," she says. "We would reach a peak and then it would be quiet and mellow and we'd pull out cigarettes. We really needed those breaks--otherwise we would have gotten too horny."
Playboy (ISSN 0032-1478), December 1999, Volume 46, Number 12, Published Monthly by Playboy, 680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago. Illinois 606011. Subscriptions: U.S., $29.97 for 12 Issues. Canada, S43.97 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 Step Kings, a three-piece punk band, really get it on, as you'd hope they would on an album called Let's Get It On (Fantastic Plastic). Ferocious as anything in the hard-core scene from which they emerged, they have found just the right balance between melody and assault, between harmony and screaming. Their riffs will have you banging your head on the nearest sharp corner. But you won't need first aid.
No musical genre ever disappears completely. It may fall into obscurity, or un-coolness, but somebody is going to revive it and make it hip again. So it is with psychedelic lounge cheese, a musical form previously appreciated primarily by lonely guys in the Sixties who loved their stereos more than they loved the music. With the aid of serious studio technology, a nod to minimalists Steve Reich and Terry Riley and another nod to French pop music, Stereolab has made psychedelic lounge music symphonic. On Cobra and Phases Group Play Voltage in the Milky Night (Elektra), Stereolab delivers almost 76 minutes of gently undulating music that should be effective for inducing reveries, naps, tranquillity and sex (if you prefer it in a relaxed state). What are the songs about? I don't know, and you won't either. Many of the lyrics are in French, anyway. Just undulate gently and you'll get the point.
John Prine hasn't recorded regularly since he was in hock to his labels back in the Seventies. The absence of new music after 1995's Lost Dogs & Mixed Blessings occasioned no alarm, but it should have: Prine was fighting for his life. He has been cancer-free for almost two years now. In Spite of Ourselves (Oh Boy, 33 Music Square West, Nashville, TN 37203) is a duet album that features such female admirers as Trisha Yearwood, Lucinda Williams, Emmylou Harris, Melba Montgomery and Iris DeMent. The cornpone humor of (We're Not) The Jet Set and the guilt-ridden spouse-swapping of the 1963 George Jones-Melba Montgomery hit Let's Invite Them Over are pleasant surprises. Prine wrote the title tune: The lyric "He ain't got laid in a month of Sundays/Caught him once and he was sniffin' my undies" is the work of a man who is glad to be alive under any circumstances.
The Talking Heads were a talented, cerebral band that had the audacity to ditch their quirky art songs in favor of incantatory vocals, primal funk and African polyrhythms. That transformation apparently shrunk David Byrne's head while opening his heart. Nonlinear lyrics and complex beats propelled such songs as Burning Down the House and Once in a Lifetime. By the time their aptly titled concert film and live album, Stop Making Sense, were released in 1984, Byrne had learned to move beyond his intellect. Stop Making Sense (Special New Edition) (Warner/Sire) includes all nine songs from the original album, as well as seven equally superb unreleased tracks. For the first time, the concert's entire set list is presented in the original order. Another classic live set being expanded and remastered is Cheap Thrills (Sony), Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company's breakthrough second album. Big Brother was often dissed for being sloppy and unfocused, but when they were on, they were great. Blending psychedelic guitars with R&B grooves. Big Brother was closer to Otis Redding than it was to the Grateful Dead. The band spurred Joplin to incendiary heights on the volcanic I Need a Man to Love and Ball and Chain. Joplin's solo albums tried too hard to imitate the Stax/Volt soul bands that she loved, but when she was backed by Big Brother she created something original. Other Janis reissues include Sony's remastered editions of four albums with and without Big Brother, and the limited-edition Box of Pearls: The Janis Joplin Collection.
Café Tacuba makes intimate music the way bands do when they've played together for years and have developed a genuinely original synthesis. Its new two-disc Revés/Yosoy (Warner) raises both rock en español and art rock to new levels. Revés, an instrumental disc, reflects the band's deep knowledge of Mexican musical culture as well as its intense interest in rock and roll. Like such Eastern European bands as Plastic People of the Universe, Café Tacuba plays a kind of art rock, but unlike the rest of that crowd, it understands that no matter how complex your harmonic ideas, they're only as good as the beats. So there's music here that's reminiscent of Frank Zappa and of electronica, of XTC and surf music, of Eno's noise and La Bamba. Yosoy is more of a song cycle, and it suffers because its vocals are no match for its instrumental virtuosity. Still, wading through the sprawl is a lot like driving across Mexico City, an astonishing journey through a culture ten times more diverse than you might have thought.
Now that the Buena Vista Social Club has been designated the world music event of the millennium, maybe we're ready for some traditional Cuban music untouched by Ry Cooder and his drum-beating son. Like Estrellas de Arieto's Los Heroes (Nonesuch), which documents the week in 1979 when the best musicians in Cuba, including many future exiles and many future Buena Vista personnel, entered the deepest groove you've ever heard. Or Casa de la Trova (Detour), a collection of Cuban folk-art songs at their most courtly and weird.
SWV was one of the most underappreciated acts of the Nineties. The three-woman New York--based vocal group never had the cool imagery of TLC or the big pop hits of Boyz II Men, but the trio had urban soul appeal that resulted in a string of sassy hits. Relatively faceless, SWV were the Shirelles to TLC's glossy Supremes. Now SWV's lead vocalist, Cheryl "Coko" Gamble, attempts to emerge as a solo star with Hot Coko (RCA). Early on, SWV was a vehicle for Brian Alexander Morgan, who shows up on Triflin', a hip-hop--R&B blend featuring Ruff Ryders' rapper Eve. Another track, handled by Anita Baker's producer, Michael Powell, is a spirited version of Marvin Gaye's If This World Were Mine. But the bulk of Hot Coko is produced by R&B hitmaker of the moment Rodney Jerkins. The man behind songs for Monica and Brandy, Jerkins works his considerable magic for another one-name singer. Hot Coko is a tasty debut.
I've never heard a higher-energy singer than Gino Washington, a lost Motor City legend rescued with Out of This World (Norton), 15 tracks featuring some of the wildest R&B ever waxed. From 1962 to 1964, Gino did whatever it took to get songs like Out of This World, Baby Be Mine and the immortal Gino Is a Coward (resurrected by Bruce Springsteen) to an audience. He'd croon, chant, use a bizarre falsetto and cram 14 syllables into a space comfortable for about half as many. Then he'd stand aside for some of the world's cheesiest and hottest guitar solos. If he hadn't gotten drafted and lost momentum, everybody might know his name.
Pianist Horace Silver did more than anyone else to shape soul jazz, with such tunes as The Preacher and Sister Sadie. And in the half-century since his first recordings, his music hasn't lost a thing. The proof lies in two new releases spanning his career. Silver's classics of the Fifties and Sixties fill the four-CD Retrospective (Blue Note). His quintets were fronted by fledgling stars such as Michael Brecker, Joe Henderson and Art Farmer. But his rhythms are just as bluesy, the piano solos as playful and the melodies almost as infectious on Silver's latest--the aptly titled Jazz Has a Sense of Humor (Verve).
Musical travelog of the year: Natacha Atlas' Gedida (Beggar's Banquet), on which she focuses on what she does best: the Arab diva act, speeded up and subtly modern. More authentic than The Mummy, I guarantee it.
Will is Rolling over in his grave department: Last summer, the Grove Theater Center in California mounted that little-known Shakespearean play, Twelfth Dog Night, with music by Three Dog Night. Maybe Gwyneth packed them in, but how does Malvolio sing One Is the Loneliest Number?
If you want to impress the wired women on your holiday gift list, bypass the frilly stuff and consider these tech toys instead. Color me girlie: Pioneer's Loop-master personal CD players come in a variety of female-friendly colors including Purple Swirl, Just Peachy and Moonlight White. Road movies: Just two inches thick when closed, Panasonic's DVD-L50 Palm Theater is a portable DVD player that weighs less than two pounds, has a five-inch flip-up LCD widescreen monitor and can also simulate surround sound through two external speakers. The price: $1100. Finger flexing: If she's addicted to the Game Show Network, Tiger Electronics offers a better fix--Wheel of Fortune Deluxe, Jeopardy and Hollywood Squares handheld video games. Each accommodates up to three players and is a bargain at $30. Say cheese, part I: Polaroid's PhotoMax PDC 700 digital camera is affordable (about $300) and a snap to use. The pocket-size shooter has a liquid crystal display for previewing images and offers a 1024 x 768 resolution (ideal for attaching photographs to e-mail or producing wallet shots on a color ink-jet printer). For serious webheads, Logitech's Quick Cam Pro is an eyeball-like camera for Macs and PCs that sends still images and video across the Net. At $150 a piece, you can buy a pair--one for you, one for her--and trade sexy footage online. Say cheese, Part II: Give the ultimate party toy and stuff Polaroid's funky I-Zone Instant Pocket Camera into her stocking. It shoots postage stamp-sized images on Polaroid paper and in sticker form ($25, plus up to $7 for film).
It happens all the time. You're in the car, listening to the radio, a new song comes on--and it rocks. But you don't know the title or the artist, so you stay tuned in hopes that the DJ will identify the song. But he never does. Well, screw him. Thanks to a new service called Star CD, you'll soon be able to punch *CD (that's *23) into your cell phone keypad, speak the station's frequency number into the handset and wait while a computer on the other end identifies the song from its database. Within a few seconds, a recorded voice shares the name of the song, the artist and even the disc on which the tune appears. By following a few more voice prompts, you can listen to a sample of the song, as well as other cuts from the CD. Except for the price of the call, Star CD is free--unless you're in the mood to shop. Then you can issue a few more commands to order the compact disc you've sampled. Star CD purchase prices (including shipping) are competitive with record stores and online music shops, and billing is hassle free. You can preregister your credit card. Ultimately, you'll be able to tack the cost of your road-shopping onto your cell phone bill. Star CD debuted in Philadelphia and is expected to launch in other major cities nationwide throughout 2000.
If you think Web surfing via cell phone is the cutting edge of wireless technology, check out Kyocera's VP-210 Visual Phone pictured at left. It's the world's first color video cellular phone, complete with a two-inch color liquid crystal display and a minicamera for transmitting real-time audio and video. The video flows at two frames per second--far from fluid but fine for putting a face with a voice. Other slick features: When you're not available to take a call, a video answering machine kicks in, provided the person on the other end has the ability to receive it on his own visual phone. (We expect future generations to tap into computer and tabletop video phones as well). You can also access the web on Visual Phone's screen, e-mail and snap JPEG images. (The phone's lens doubles as a digital still camera.) Now the bad news: You can't get your hands on one just yet. The Visual Phone is now only available in Japan (for about $400), but is expected stateside by 2001.
Being John Malkovich (USA Films) is one of the genuine treats of the fall season, an audacious, wildly original film about a struggling puppeteer (John Cusack) who discovers a "portal" that sends him inside the body of actor John Malkovich. What sounds like a hip party joke is brilliantly developed into a full-length film by writer Charlie Kaufman and director Spike Jonze (making his feature-film debut after a career in high-style TV commercials and music videos). The cast is uniformly fine, with Cameron Diaz as Cusack's slightly dippy wife, Catherine Keener as his ferocious office mate, Orson Bean as his benign but befuddled boss and, best of all, John Malkovich himself, who gives an astonishingly sly performance as a man possessed. This downright bizarre material works as well as it does because the actors are fully engaged--and Jonze puts his faith in them and the script instead of trying to dazzle us with special effects. [rating]4 bunnies[/rating]
To a new generation, he's Basil Exposition, the cheerful head of British intelligence in the Austin Powers movies. Could this youthful-looking actor be the same Michael York who created such an indelible impression as Tybalt in Franco Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet 31 years ago? Or Liza Minnelli's leading man in Cabaret?
American Beauty (See review) One of the year's top films, about a family cracking under the pressure of living the American dream. Kevin Spacey and Annette Bening head a superb cast. [rating]4 bunnies[/rating]
With Saving Private Ryan and The Thin Red Line fresh from the battlefield, it's hard to believe it's been 70 years since All Quiet on the Western Front won Oscars for best picture and best director. Here are some other war favorites.
The Beatles' 1968 animated feature Yellow Submarine (MGM, $30) remains such a jubilant trip that quibbling with its shortcomings seems, well, blue and mean. The album was a collaborative effort that stretched the then-nascent art of concept albums to its limit. The movie mixes elements of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band with new songs, packaging and oodles of extras--but was not greeted with the same enthusiasm as A Hard Day's Night (1964) or Help! (1965). Perhaps rightly so. That said, MGM's Special Edition DVD is a joy to behold and replay on several levels. This is seminal psychedelia, and digital remastering has brought out the best in it. The soundtrack finds the best of the Beatles. In the extended jam of It's All Too Much that closes the movie, we hear a fairly stripped-down Fab Four: guys playing rock and roll, marveling at simplicity, at odds with excess. That MGM included the animated sequence "Hey Bulldog"--cut from the movie, but a John Lennon-delivered highlight of the Yellow Submarine album--definitely makes this one a keeper.
<p>Guy Ritchie's audacious film debut, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (PolyGram), is the most darkly gleeful gangster film since Pulp Fiction. But Ritchie, a 31-year-old Brit who honed his creative edge in commercials and music videos, does not include Quentin Tarantino among his influences. Mention Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, though, and Ritchie's voice fills with cockney exuberance. "I saw Butch Cassidy just the other day and I still think it's a fucking brilliant movie," he says. Ritchie found immediate inspiration for Lock, Stock in gritty British crime flicks, including two available on tape: "The Long Good Friday--the most credible gangster movie--and Get Carter, directed by Mike Hodges."</p>
About three years ago, I began getting monthly therapeutic massages. My masseuse is a lovely woman with a warm personality, not to mention a great touch. Initially I was apprehensive about being alone and naked with her (except for the obligatory sheet), but as we got to know each other I found it easier to relax. I became so comfortable, in fact, that I began to get erections during the massage. I remember the shot of fear when I became hard for the first time. I expected my masseuse to ask me to leave. (I had signed a form before our first session acknowledging that the massages would be therapeutic and not sexual.) But she never said a word about it, even after the massage had ended. That put me even more at ease. I became erect again during the next session, and made the sheet rise like a pup tent. During the third session in which I became hard, my masseuse aggressively massaged my inner thighs, moving her fingers close to but not touching my penis or testicles. The sheet rubbed rapidly against the swollen and sensitive head of my penis. After a few minutes, I realized I was going to come. While trying to decide what to do, I had an orgasm. My masseuse paused while I spurted and quivered on the table, then finished the massage. This pattern has been repeated, almost without interruption, every month since. She has never exposed or made contact with my genitals. I have told my wife about this and she says that as a strongly empathetic woman, my masseuse is following her instincts to make me feel good. My wife says the therapist allows this to happen and maybe even assists in my pleasure because I am considerate and discreet. But I'm left with a few questions: How common is this experience? Is there any possibility that my masseuse is oblivious to my orgasms? Should I broach this with her, or would I risk ruining a good thing? Also, is she violating any ethical standards?--A. R., Albuquerque, New Mexico
Browse any drugstore and you'll see shampoo bottles decorated with flowers, teddy bears on toilet paper and toothpaste boxes with reflective swirls. Each package is more eye-catching than the last--until you reach the condoms. With their muted colors and minimal designs, condom boxes could be taken as visual evidence of America's enduring prudishness.
In his most recent round of unintended self-immolation, drug czar Barry McCaffrey effectively nullified drug testing for marijuana users nationwide. In a move that he hoped would bring the medical marijuana movement to its knees, the retired general instead gave pot smokers legal carte blanche to fail every urine test they take.
"The bulk of sex in today's crime novels belongs to bad people: rapists, child molesters and serial killers; the most perverse of sex murderers. Their sex acts are specific, personal and unique; they're dwelt on at length, are related to character and are significant to the plot. It's true there is a tendency to deal with the criminal aspect of any sort of behavior, since we are writing crime novels. Thus we have criminal politicians, criminal businessmen, criminal lawyers. But it goes quite beyond that. There is, without doubt, a new puritanism, a group mind that sees sex as one of the forces of evil, to be feared."
Ben Affleck, in jeans, T-shirt and sneakers, drives his pale blue 1970 Chevy Malibu convertible, a boat of a car, into a parking space on Beverly Boulevard in Los Angeles. He puts a couple of quarters into the meter and, while turning a few heads, walks into a restaurant called Red. He apologizes profusely for being late, even though it's only 15 minutes. "I'm not one of those asshole actors who gets off on being late," he says. Affleck orders iced tea. He's a little embarrassed when the manager recognizes him and suggests moving from a table by the window to a more comfortable--and discreet--booth. The handsome 27-year-old millionaire whose life, it would seem, is now the stuff of male fantasy is still surprisingly modest, unguarded and at times wildly indiscreet.
There is something about Naomi Campbell that sets her apart from other supermodels. While she can seduce the camera and work a catwalk with the best of the streamlined beauties, Campbell has a taste for risk taking and an absolute self-confidence that has fueled her success and her longevity. In an industry where women are often given their walking papers before they hit 25, 29-year-old Campbell is still one of the top-paid models in the world. "I work very hard and I'm worth every cent," says Naomi of her net worth, which Business Age has estimated at $29 million. She was discovered at 15, and it wasn't long before the British-born beauty's exotic good looks (a mixture of Jamaican and Chinese ancestry) made her grace the covers of Time and Vogue. Like many of her peers, Campbell has endured her share of PR embarrassments over the years: a reported near drug overdose in the Canary Islands (she said it was an allergic reaction to antibiotics), her part ownership of the Fashion Café and an allegation that she assaulted an assistant. But she shrugs off criticism in the wake of two successful books, an album on Epic Records that was big in Japan, roles in films such as Spike Lee's Girl 6 and her contributions to children's charities. She's been called the black panther, and her impressive physique tells us why. What's her secret? "I never diet. I smoke. I drink now and then. I never work out," she says. Captured here, Naomi shows off a sensual versatility that will keep her in demand for years to come.
A long time ago, in a galaxy not so far away, a little independent movie called Halloween chilled audiences and impressed critics as one of the most masterful horror movies since Psycho. Its big-lunged young star, Jamie Lee Curtis, created the mold that every latter-day scream queen tried to fill. Soon every aspiring actor dreamed of breaking out in a hot horror film--but more often ended up in career-breaking schlock. Even Curtis stopped screaming and moved on to mainstream fare as the Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street and Hellraiser series and other Eighties slasher films ran their courses.
Everybody on the subway was reading the Daily News, and every newspaper was open to the exact same page, the one with the three pictures. The picture of the movie star, smiling. The picture of the famous model, posing and smiling. And the picture of the stolen brooch. Shaped vaguely like a boomerang, with a larger dark stone at each end and smaller lighter stones scattered between (like stars in the night sky, seen, say, from a cell), even the brooch seemed to be smiling.
Shel and I started out as cartoonists at roughly the same time, though he was at Playboy a couple of years before me, drawing from his own experiences (I assumed) about guys who got laid. When I landed at Playboy, I drew from my own experiences as well, about guys who wanted to get laid but got screwed instead. That was only one reason I envied Shel.
As Brooke Richards walks toward you in the Playboy Mansion West gym, extends a hand (it's warm) and offers that down-to-earth smile, she is instantly familiar. Featured in several of our newsstand specials (including Girlfriends and Sexy Girls Next Door) and as our July 1999 cover girl, the 23-year-old South Carolina native is the center of attention as this century's last Playmate. And why not? As the youngest of 14 children, Miss December is unquestionably the pick of the litter.
Incredible but depressingly true--that's the Aleksander Radojevic story. Alex is a 20-year-old, 7'3" basketball player from Yugoslavia who attended Barton County Community College in Kansas with the hopes of transferring to and playing for Ohio State University this season. You think, Great--a big kid with solid basketball skills who wants to go to college rather than jump to the NBA before the ink on his high school diploma dries. Then, the NCAA rules that Alex can't play ball at Ohio State or any other college because he once accepted a few dragos for playing glorified pickup games back in Yugoslavia. Never mind that he didn't know (and couldn't know) the NCAA rules back then.
Born in Washington, D.C. a century ago, Edward Kennedy "Duke" Ellington is a titanic figure in 20th century music. He was an ordained original in two distinct areas--as a composer whose thousands of enormously varied works range from classic songs to long-form suites of unprecedented ambition and scope, and as a bandleader who led one of the most inventive orchestras in jazz from the early Twenties to his death in 1974. Among the countless centennial tributes to Ellington has been a yearlong celebration by New York City's Jazz at Lincoln Center. "It's been wall-to-wall Duke, around the clock," says artistic director (and Pulitzer Prize--winning jazz musician) Wynton Marsalis, who remembers the Duke:
Dire straits got it right: Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug. This month, I'm the bug. A deadline crisis prevented me from accepting Honda's short-lead invitation to test-drive its new S2000 roadster in Atlanta, so Playboy's Editorial Director, Arthur Kretchmer, reached for the keys (and didn't put up a fuss about it). Here's his critique of the car: "Hype--as in hyperbolic praise--is going to surround the Honda S2000, and all of it will be justified. This new Honda roadster is pure, a go-cart with leather seats and a CD player. It's a 240-horsepower toy racer that can go from zero to 60 in less than six seconds, corner flat out, stop on a match-head and meet stringent California emission standards. The two-liter motor has the highest power output per liter of any normally aspirated production engine in the world. The six-speed close-ratio manual transmission has an aluminum shifter that goes snick-snick, and the huge antilock brakes go stop-stop. When you drive this car, you don't need a personality.
Feels like everyone wants to be a sex star these days. Movie and TV producers seem intent on hitting us right below our Deepak Chopra. Everywhere we turn there are girls in tight clothes and cold studios, shaking more tail than the NBC peacock. However, allure is an ephemeral thing. Beautiful celebrities abound--but not all have mojo worth stealing. Sexiness is hard to fake. Whenever a starlet strikes the obligatory provocative pose, it's time to wonder, Is she doing it for lust or for money?
The NFL's top quarterback shares his secrets on the perfect pass. For him, throwing a tight spiral with accuracy requires total body movement. It's a product of a pair of legs, one arm, a hand and five fingers working in concert.
Here's one proven method for meeting women: Lease a 45-foot leisure bus typically used by rock stars on tour and refurbish it with a photo studio, two changing rooms and a reception area. Paint it black, then add a seven-and-a-half-foot silver Rabbit Head on each side and the words Playboy 2000 Playmate Search. Hire an experienced driver, no-nonsense security and an online reporter. Assign Playboy photographers to work in each of the 36 cities visited by the bus and 12 more where hotel suites double as temporary studios. Install seven phone lines so that test images of promising candidates can immediately be posted to the Playboy Cyber Club. Dispatch a publicist to spread the word in each city before the bus arrives, inviting women to audition for a chance to become the January 2000 Playmate (the winner, featured in this pictorial, will be revealed next month) and receive a check for $200,000. Erect an air-conditioned tent along the side of the bus as soon as the lines become too long to fit everyone on board, which happens in most cities before nine A.M. Usher each woman into the changing area, where she can slip into a Playmate 2000 robe before being called into the studio. Log 17,392 miles over five months as (text concluded on page 246)Playmate 2000(continued from page 162) you crisscross North America searching for undiscovered beauty.
As a U.S. Marine Corps intelligence officer, Scott Ritter, now 38, monitored missile buildup in Russia and missile destruction in the Persian Gulf. In 1991 he was hired as a weapons inspector for the UN Special Commission. He resigned seven years later, charging that U.S. intelligence had taken over a program Ritter had started--to monitor Saddam Hussein's personal safety and Iraq's concealment of major weapons--and then had denied Unscom the data collected under their auspices. More damagingly, Ritter has told Playboy, 1998's Operation Desert Fox, ostensibly designed to bomb Baghdad into letting UN inspectors back in, was a botched secret attempt to kill Hussein. Ritter is the author of Endgame: Solving the Iraq Problem--Once and for All.
Establishing their individuality, both champions entered the ring supported by their identifying music--Lennox moving to the rhythm of reggae and Evander singing to gospel. Lewis, with no robe, backed by the Union Jack in his corner, and Holyfield praising the Lord with his disciples in his corner. Both in unmatched physical preparedness, each hoping to have an edge on the other. At the bell there was little to choose from--that is, until Lennox starts tossing those accurate left jabs and repeated overhand rights.
<p>A few years ago, Gina Gershon played two different, aggressively sensual lesbians--first in the universally scorned Showgirls, then in the critically acclaimed Bound. It set her up for every actor's nightmare--typecasting.</p>
Tired Of Blowing Away the same old demons and festering zombies? 'Tis the season when software developers release their greatest video games. You'll find plenty of sequels in the mix--most notably Quake III: Arena, Resident Evil 3: Nemesis and Wipeout 3. But if you're looking for a fresh digital rush, let this feature be your guide. In addition to picking the best original titles for each of the current platforms (PC, Playstation, Nintendo 64 and Sega's new Dreamcast), we asked CART racers Paul Tracy and Dario Franchitti of Team Kool Green to test the latest auto racing games. They name the champs and the chumps--and share slick tips for leaving challengers in the dust. Bored playing solo? The web can hook you up for a threesome, fivesome or even with a crowd for multiplayer game action. We point your browsers to the hot spots. We also rank the latest video gear to go (great for killing travel time) and provide a heads-up on next-generation video game systems.
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 32, 41, 49--50, 107--111, 184--186 and 251, check the listings below to find the stores nearest you.
Can you believe that some of the freshest gourmet treats are being delivered by guys in brown shorts? Foodstuffs shipped overnight via UPS, FedEx and the U.S. mail are a booming business, both for the variety of goodies available and because they're fresher than what's on grocers' and specialty stores' shelves. For example, Legal Sea Foods, a Boston-based restaurant chain, can ship overnight a cold-packed Clambake Supreme that includes two 1 1/4-pound lobsters, plus clams, corn, potatoes and a cooking pot. Just add water (and moonlight) and you have an instant romantic dinner, without the sand. If your idea of the catch of the day doesn't involve fish--or your catch of the day doesn't like fish--D'Artagnan in New Jersey ships a variety of exotic prepared meats, including Bayonne ham and a terrine of Mousquetaire (duck, prunes and Armagnac). Or expand your culinary skills with D'Artagnan's Glorious Game Cookbook and an order of fresh, low-cholesterol rabbit, venison, buffalo or even ostrich. Wine expertise comes by parcel post, too. Membership in the California Wine Club includes two exceptional bottles of West Coast wine shipped monthly, along with a newsletter and information on how to order more (often at a discount). Selections are made from the 900 or so boutique wineries in the state, and the club prides itself on finding unusual local vintages that often are unavailable on a retail basis or outside of the state. You can sign up for any number of months, but the more you commit to, the greater your savings. A six-month membership runs $195, which saves $21 off the month-to-month price of $36. For great bread to accompany the wine, Pane e Salute in Vermont ships terrific Italian coccodrillo (a naturally leavened bread) that's as fresh and authentic as anything you'll find outside the Trastevere district in Rome. For caviar, Gourmet USA stocks many kinds, from beluga malossol to kosher. It also offers mail-order vinegars, mustards, truffles, oils, olives, spreads and fruits in liquor, plus Norwegian and Scottish salmon. Shipping is quick and the staff is exceptionally helpful. Our choices for dessert return you to the States. Harbor Sweets in Salem, Massachusetts ships little foil-wrapped sailboats called Sweet Sloops (white chocolate sails and dark chocolate hulls) along with lobster- and shell-shaped confections that make great stocking stuffers. For cheesecake, go south to Columbus, Mississippi, where Jubilations offers a variety of flavors, including the Supreme that's pictured below and one that tastes like a margarita. Gift wrapping on some items is available, and we're betting you'll want seconds of these products for your table, too.
Centerfolds of the Century--We name (and rank) 100 Beautiful women whose images have appeared on the pages of this magazine, Marilyn, Bettie, Ram, Jenny, Heather--Don't get US Started. A 21-page salute