Two Thousand and One. Time for all you naked apes to heave a femur high into the midnight sky. Only have a chicken leg handy? Then consider reading this magazine a fine substitute for millennial dramatics. It's a symbol of human aspirations, lofty and base. Few have captured the teleological sweep of history better than Arthur C. Clarke. With 2001: A Space Odyssey, Clarke alerted the world to a magical number and a future weighted with possibility. Who better, then, to herald our new age? In 2001, Hello, Sir Arthur leads our holiday lineup by surveying yesterday's hopes and tomorrow's challenges. While the new millennium doesn't look exactly as Clarke imagined it, his themes endure. The inspirational artwork is by Donato Giancola. Cue The Blue Danube and imagine a white sphere rising lazily until it reaches its apex, when it's whacked harder than Big Pussy Bompensiero. The ability to spike a volleyball is just one of cover girl Gabrielle Reece's charms. This month she's hung her suit out to dry in a triumphant pictorial by Phillip Dixon. Reece is like a walking Nike commercial, a winged Victory minus the feathers. She says the photos are about form, not sex. She's right and she's wrong. Her body has grace worthy of Praxiteles, yet gives off enough heat to crack marble.
Everything was fabulous at Betsey Johnson's New York fashion show, from the couture and the fans (Steven Tyler, Cyndi Lauper, Ric Ocasek) to the 30 Playmates who walked the runway. Tunes were provided by DJ Mark Ronson. No wonder the show made world headlines.
Playboy (ISSN 0032-1478), January 2001, Volume 48 Number 1, 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 best thing about the Chicago International Film Festival may be its fabulous posters. Photographer Victor Skrebneski has shot them for the past 36 years. He did photography for us in the early days, and clearly he has kept up with playboy since. He often uses Playmates for his images and recently created posters with PMOYs Victoria Silvstedt and Anna Nicole Smith. This year's poster features Heather Kozar and the extremely lucky David Sojka. We like to think it's sexy. It's art, even. Anyway, it's light as a Heather.
As steely third-year resident Dr. Cleo Finch on NBC's ER, Michael Michele causes heart palpitations in the chest cavities of the show's male viewers. Unquestionably the sexiest Michael we know (she was named after her mother's best female friend), the 34-year-old Indiana native moved to New York in 1984 and did a slew of commercials before landing her breakout role as Wesley Snipes' moll in 1991's New Jack City. From there Michael sizzled on New York Undercover, Central Park West and Homicide, as well as in several New York theater productions. Five-foot-nine Michael didn't fake her love of the game in 1997's Sixth Man. Turns out she's as comfortable on the hardwood of the court as she is onstage. She was the star forward on her high school's basketball team and still handles some pickup work on ER's Burbank lot. Los Angeles--based Michael, a longtime youth activist, spends her free time playing in charity basketball tournaments (mostly against guys) and commuting to Manhattan to hang with friends. She doesn't have the most feminine first name, but from our vantage point she's all woman and then some. And then some more.
Playwright Kenneth Lonergan's debut as director, You Can Count on Me (Paramount Classics), has already won the Audience Favorite award at last year's Sundance Festival. I hope that many other discerning moviegoers will feel the same way about it. Laura Linney, who's been good in many films (The Truman Show, Absolute Power), gives a transcendent performance as a single mother in a small town in upstate New York. She does her best to lead an orderly life, despite the fact that her husband ran off years ago. Her world is shaken by two simultaneous events: a visit from her errant brother (Mark Ruffalo) and the realization that her new boss (Matthew Broderick) is an insufferable prig. You Can Count on Me goes its own way, at its own pace, accumulating details and speaking volumes by leaving various matters unsaid. Its carefully controlled emotions well up, and by the end, the impact is extraordinary. The cast, including young Rory Culkin as Linney's eight-year-old son, is superb. If you cherish movies that encourage you to think and feel, don't miss this one.
This is bound to be a happy holiday season for movie buffs. Never before has there been such an array of merchandise for gift-giving. Proponents of DVD expect to sell a lot more hardware, creating even more demand for new titles. If you're new to DVD, or know someone who's just getting his feet wet, I strongly recommend The Matrix and Men in Black special editions. These aren't so much video versions of the movies as new entities with hours of material to examine and enjoy. They're what I call convincers.
Bamboozled (Listed only) Satire about a network TV exec (Damon Wayans) who deliberately plans an offensive modern-day minstrel show that unexpectedly catches on. Spike Lee gets on his soapbox and bludgeons a clever premise to death.
Christian Bale. Seen most Recently in: Heinous roles in American Psycho and Shaft.First Seen in: Steven Spielberg's Empire of the Sun.How he feels about playing repellent characters: If you hate me that much, it means I've done my job well. I have no problems playing a character such as Walter Williams in Shaft or Patrick Bateman in American Psycho, because I trust people are smart enough to know this isn't me, that I'm an actor and I enjoy pretending to be other people.
"My taste is pretty eclectic," says actor James Woods."The Godfather: Part II, Amarcord, On the Waterfront, The Wild Bunch, Grand Illusion, The Bicycle Thief, Sullivan's Travels, Gone With the Wind and From Here to Eternity. I have no movie-watching ritual. I can watch 'em any time and anywhere."
The Prisoner, a Brit classic starring Patrick McGoohan, is still considered one of the most thought-provoking television series ever made. Now the first two sets of episodes--the first six of the total 17--are out on VHS and, more interestingly, on DVD (A&E Home Video). The DVD sets have a rare alternative version of one of the key early stories and a detailed interactive map of the fictional village. The remainder of the series will be released over the next year.
Hey--it ain't television. Lost in the justified hype surrounding The Sopranos, HBO's phenomenal gangland hit, is an often overlooked fact: Because it airs on a premium cable channel, the show remains unavailable to about 70 percent of the national TV audience. Sure, HBO isn't the TV equivalent of the witness protection program, but the show's arrival in a four-DVD set including all 13 first-season episodes (HBO, $100) is great news whether or not you get the channel. Even those already hooked on the series will appreciate the trim collection with its clear DVD image. After comparison, this set may inspire you to complain to the cable company about signal quality. To the unmade viewer, though, The Sopranos' myriad charms seem remarkably fresh. Meet Tony Soprano and his wife (James Gandolfini and Edie Falco, both Emmy winners), and delight in the deliciously complex life of a depressed, latter-day don. He kills. He eats. He confesses to his therapist (Lorraine Bracco). He coddles his little knucklehead son. And best of all, he battles with his vicious loon of a mother (Nancy Marchand). Having them all on DVD eliminates the need for appointment TV and, like HBO's two-disc set of Sex and the City ($40), invites weekend marathons. Slip on a comfy pair of cement shoes and enjoy.
Truly great artists just get greater as they age, even if they are ignored by radio and record companies. Merle Haggard has never sung better or smarter than he does on If I Could Only Fly (Epitaph). His hillbilly jazz roots show all over the place. The world-weary wisdom of hits from Sing Me Back Home to If We Make It Through December takes on a new cast in Wishing All These Old Things Were New, which opens the album. Hag has done more than just survive, which is a useful skill once you've outgrown Britney and 'N Sync.
Boy Bands get Grumpy Department: Says Jeff Timmons of 98 Degrees about O-Town, the band documented on the ABC series Making the Band: "We hate Making the Band because it completely illegitimizes everything we worked so hard for. It makes it seem like you can just go to some audition, be thrown in a band and you can be successful." You mean you can't?
Don't let the idea of sacrificing souls to appease a strange god scare you away from Sacrifice. The new PC-based strategy game casts you as lead wizard to a mob of gruesome creatures so you can roam the land, destroying enemies in honor of your god. Once you've amassed enough power, take your conquest online against other players. The game's 55 creatures, wealth of spells and magic-controlled weather system ensure brutal battles as you sacrifice the souls of your opponents. It sounds brutal, but the game's developers have sympathized with the softhearted, who can choose to worship a smiley-faced balloon instead of Charnel, the Lord of Slaughter. Lucky you.
His words rang with truth, and his image stirred the nation. In King: The Photobiography of Martin Luther King Jr. (Viking Studio), the pictures of the preacher in action are as inspirational and compelling as his revolutionary ideas. This is the first book of its kind, a gorgeous and moving visual tapestry compiled by Life photographer Bob Adelman and photo historian Robert Phelan, with text by National Book Award winner Charles Johnson. It moves chronologically from King's birth in Atlanta in 1929 to his funeral there 39 years later. But it doesn't rely on famous or familiar images of him. Here we can see a peaceful picture of King at home eating dinner with his family (seated beneath a portrait of Mahatma Gandhi), as well as the bloody visual record of his assassination on a hotel balcony in Memphis. The book documents one of the most transforming epochs in American history.
I write today of two of nature's greatest wonders--boogers and loogers. I trust you can acknowledge their significance, even if society never discusses them publicly. But what better place to honor them than in my mature and tasteful Men column? (Oprah would not touch this subject, believe me.)
I Live with a supermodel. OK, that's a slight exaggeration, but the girl in question has been on the covers of Marie Claire, Elle and Italian Vogue. She's a 23-year-old Brit called Sophie Dahl and, while she's not on first-name terms with Warren Beatty, she's still pretty hot.
Cruzan single Barrel is for people who take their rum seriously. Produced in small batches at a St. Croix distillery, each numbered and signed bottle contains a blend of aged rums (the maximum is 12 years) that are given further time in a single charred oak barrel. The result is a rich yet reasonably priced (about $30) sipping liquor that won best rum in the first San Francisco World Spirits Competition.
I have lived in Silicon Valley for the past 10 years. I'm 40, never married, no children, average height and in great shape. I'm interested in art and music and participate in all kinds of sports. I can cook, iron and take care of myself, and I'm looking for a woman with similar qualities. But about five years ago I noticed a change in the local demographics. My impression was confirmed when the San Jose Mercury News published data that showed Silicon Valley having among the worst ratios of eligible men to women in the country, including some parts of Alaska. The region is filled with single male engineers. The women I meet don't feel the need to keep a date (two have canceled on me in the past week alone), because they sense it's no big deal; they can go to any party and be outnumbered three to one by guys. I've decided the best thing to do is move. Can you find me a list of cities that have the best ratios of women to single men? I can't see living like this much longer.--W.T., Palo Alto, California
We all have an image of the early American: frontier settler armed with a flintlock, taking on savages to create the New World. In his book A Way Through the Wilderness: The Natchez Trace and the Civilization of the Southern Frontier, historian William Davis wrote, "Every cabin had at least one rifle and perhaps an old pistol or two. They put meat on the table, defended the home against intruders and provided some entertainment to the men. A man was not a man without knowledge of firearms and some skill in their use." We have a similar image of the rebellious American as a member of a well-armed populace, ready to repel tyrants. In the days before the Revolution, Americans such as Richard Henry Lee boasted that Virginia could alone furnish 6000 "Rifle Men" who could regularly hit an orange at 200 yards. Unlike most nations of the world, the message said, we were armed and dangerous.
"Research proves that mentoring youngsters and teaching them games like chess can build resilience in the face of illegal drug use. Because the mind and the body are intricately connected, psychoactive substances should be banned from chess tournaments. Drug-testing is as appropriate for chess players as for shot-putters."
It is a raging-hot morning in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and the dusty air carries the smell of smoke. The eerie orange sky and the pungent odor are reminders of the wildfire that is scorching tens of thousands of acres of nearby forest. Governor Gary Johnson, who has declared a state of emergency, hasn't had much sleep for weeks, and now the fire is burning through the Santa Fe National Forest toward a watershed that provides drinking water for the city of Las Vegas, New Mexico. Johnson plans a helicopter flyover of the fire this afternoon.
<p>The most extraordinary outburst of global insanity ever recorded occurred on 1 January 2000. No, I am not referring to the infamous Y2K bug, which was a real, though fortunately trivial, problem. I am pointing the finger of scorn at the millions who welcomed the millennium one year too early.</p>
Penelope Cruz is so gorgeous that when she walks into the Whiskey Bar in Los Angeles, even the stars are struck. "Is that ...?" Hollywood's coolest whisper, mesmerized by the Spanish slip of a girl who is all tight white tank top and caramel skin. Penelope is teeny tiny. And she is blatantly breaking the no-smoking rule by lighting cigarette after cigarette. Perched high on a pillow, she chain-puffs and laughs with her friends. When you're a goddess, you can get away with shit like that. You can also get away with snagging coveted roles in four highly anticipated films: All the Pretty Horses with Matt Damon, Blow with Johnny Depp, Captain Corelli's Mandolin with Nicolas Cage and Christian Bale and Vanilla Sky with Tom Cruise. It's enough to make Gwyneth shake in her Jimmy Choos.
She may look like a sinewy import from Mount Olympus, but Gabrielle Reece is someone men can easily relate to. She can talk sports, swing a mean five-iron and do 500 pounds on the leg press. Her physical presence--6'3" and 160 pounds of curvy, gym-sculpted, cinnamon-hued muscle--inspires awe, respect and maybe a little fear.
Most Americans had never heard of John Hagelin until he took on Pat Buchanan for the leadership of the Reform Party--and for the $12.6 million in federal matching funds that went with it. The quantum physicist with a perpetual cherubic smile was a striking contrast to the combative Buchanan. In fact, John Hagelin is a striking contrast to most people.
Once, not too long ago. Bill Goldberg was a 275-pound lineman for the Atlanta Falcons. Then a torn abdominal muscle ended his less than stellar football career. He ran into professional wrestlers Sting and Lex Luger during a workout at their Atlanta gyms. After discussing the idea with his family, and nearly signing with the World Wrestling Federation, Goldberg joined WCW in September 1995. His road to champion status started at the notorious WCW training facility, the Power Plant, that December.
It all started out at Rosalie's Good Eats Cafe Everybody sittin', eatin' eggs and grits, chattin' in the usual way Lucy pourin' the coffee and dishin' out the eats Wearin' one of them flimsy, frilly white blouses with nothin' underneath.
Regis is a passionate sports fan and above all he lives and dies for Notre Dame football. If anyone can wake up the echoes shouting her name it is Regis. He and I are old friends in a low-key sort of way. We live just a block from each other on New York's West Side. We go to the same gym, and I can vouch for the fact that Regis is in very good shape for a man of 69, or 68 or 66, whichever age he decides to be that day.
Irina Voronina may always be a beautiful mystery. A native of provincial Russia, she spends precious little time in her homeland these days, as a blossoming career in modeling takes her to cities all over the world: Milan, Basel, Madrid and, most recently, Los Angeles. "Playboy didn't discover me," she says, "I discovered playboy. I was in LA for a few days and I introduced myself at the studio there."
There was an intensely private man whose fate was to become, as year followed year, something of a public figure and a model for others. Nothing astonished R---- more, and more alarmed him! Relatively young, he'd achieved renown as a writer of popular yet literary novels; his field was the psychological suspense mystery, a genre in which he excelled, perhaps because he respected the tradition and took infinite care in composition. These were terse, minimally plotted but psychologically knotty novels written, as R---- said in interviews, sentence by sentence, and so they must be read sentence by sentence, with attention, as one might perform steps in a difficult dance. R---- was himself both choreographer and dancer. And sometimes, even after decades of effort, R---- lost his way, and despaired. For there was something of horror in the lifelong contemplation of mystery; a sick, visceral helplessness that must be transformed into control, and mystery. And so R---- never gave up any challenge, no matter how difficult. "To give up is to confess you're mortal and must die."
It's been more than three decades since President Nixon declared a war on drugs, the most destructive domestic policy in recent American history. The result? The effects of drugs on American society are more damaging, not less. We build prisons like mad. We deploy SWAT teams and characterize the crack epidemic with terms such as "self-cleaning oven." What's more, aggressive enforcement has proved to be a weak deterrent against drug use. A 1999 overview by the National Institute on Drug Abuse stated, "Problems of substance abuse remain wide-spread among American young people. Today over half [55 percent] have tried an illicit drug by the time they finish high school." And this report was written before the explosion of ecstasy use in the past 18 months. Recreational drug use is prevalent (concluded on page 207) Drugs 2001(continued from page 153) across the country. In Chicago, bartenders report sweeping up small empty bottles of GHB at the end of the night. In basements out West, home chemists cook up batches of crank. And in the South, the border with Mexico becomes more porous as the increase in commercial traffic fostered by Nafta gives drug cartels more ways to sneak drugs into the country.
You know how to knot a bow tie and even how to spell cummerbund. But are you really comfortable in a tuxedo? You should be. Because the days when you dragged out a penguin suit for the annual corporate function are over. These days, black-tie means a night on the town. The tux is fast becoming a daring urban outfit for bars, clubs and afterparties. Of course, it takes the right tux to get the new look and feel. Designers are adding comfort (with roomier arms), flexibility (with stretch fabrics), informality (with softened shoulders) and even color (with red velvet) to what will always be the ultimate statement of style. There's a basic recipe for the updated tux. Add equal parts class, comfort and sex appeal, and be sure to shake well--preferably on the dance floor.
I like to go down on my man because I find the penis very erotic. I think it's great, and I like to watch it. It's fun to play with and it feels good in my mouth. Giving oral sex can get a woman hot inside. And so I always need to do that. I always like to do that before intercourse. Cock is the most erotic word. I love that word. I like the penis to be pretty big, too, but it doesn't have to be gigantic. I've tried to measure guys' cocks and not one of them has let me. Not even the men who have the biggest cocks. Too long is too much. I like it to have a nice girth with a good head, a nice mushroom head, and not one that's so skinny it disappears. I like to watch it go in and out of my pussy. I love it when men just look at me and get hard through their clothes. To know that I really turn on a man, and he can't help it is erotic. You know, making him have an erection in public and knowing he can't move because people will see. And when I'm standing up, and he comes up to me from behind and I feel his hardness through his pants--that's erotic. You know what also turns me on? Swallowing. I crave come. I don't always swallow, I have to be in the mood. It can drip down. It's not so much the swallowing I like, but the pulsating when he's ejaculating in my mouth. I feel it pumping in there, and he's feeling so good doing it. He's thinking, Oh, she feels so good, oh, baby, this feels so wonderful. That turns me on. I'm a pleaser.
Being called the most beautiful woman in the world by hundreds of magazines could alter a person's perspective. Model and actress Carol Alt credits it all to plain luck. She's never bothered making plans. Alt, 40, a native Long Islander, was discovered by a photographer while waiting tables at a steak house during her freshman year at Hofstra University. Her father, a fire chief, and her mother, a former model, tried unsuccessfully to talk Alt out of moving to Manhattan to pursue modeling full time. She bolted and soon commanded $2000 a day posing for Valentino and Sassoon jeans. The Sports Illustrated 1982 swimsuit issue featured her on the cover. More than 700 magazine covers followed, including Life magazine, which called Alt "the next million-dollar face." She entered the rarefied world of the supermodel.
Bacchus rules on New Year's Eve. Before the ball drops in Times Square a gazillion bottles of champagne will have been opened from Maine to California. And that's not including the fizzy fun revelers will consume in Europe and Asia. On this page we've assembled some enological paraphernalia--that's wine stuff--to get you in the mood to pop or pull a cork. Metrokane describes its Rabbit opener as "faster than a speeding bunny." (We've known a few speedy Bunnies ourselves.) It will open a bottle of wine in three seconds. Last year, couture designer Jean-Paul Gaultier dressed up a bottle of Piper-Heidsieck in red vinyl. This year, he has corseted an ice bucket and a magnum bottle of champagne. You'll pay $250 for the Piper. There are also some excellent books on wine and an elegant coaster for wine bottles that doubles as a vintage guide. We've also chosen a wine thermometer and the Wine Companion, which includes six tools.