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ALIVE AND 
UNGLOTHED 


THE INTERVIEW 


50 YEARS OF A VG 
THE BUNNY N 


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WR 


ow much shut-eye did you get last 

night? Probably not enough. In 

Sleep Is a Battlefield the alert and 
well-rested (at least now, 
since he's finished the piece) reports find- 
ings from the front lines of sleep science 
that may keep you awake at night. Before 
electric lights, we likely slept for nine or 
10 hours at a time; today drowsiness is the 
norm. Have we forgotten what it's like to 
be fully engaged? And what effect does 
"sleep dep" have on our daily lives? No one 
was nodding off inside the bustling Playboy 
Clubs, the first of which opened in Chicago 
50 years ago. revisits what 
he describes as a "pocket of cool ambi- 
ance" in The Bunny Years. Hospitality is an 
art, and who better to describe its nuances 
than the hotelier who owns 
the Chateau Marmont in L.A., the Mercer 
in New York and the Standard Hotels. "The Neal Gabler 
first rule of hospitality,” he explains in Over- 
night Sensation, "is discretion." It's difficult 
to be discreet when you are as gorgeous, 
talented and funny as the 
subject of our Playboy Interview and co- 
star of a new flick with Tom Cruise, Knight 
and Day. Good news to report: Diaz says 
her well-regarded booty remains "in con- 
stant sway and has a mind of its own." The 
shapely sports car of the future will also 
have an independent streak, predicts our 
resident automotive guru, in André Balazs 

— 


Reinventing the Wheel. Gross reports from 
the Geneva Auto Show, 
where tomorrow's super- 
cars were on display. 
F the cel- 
ebrated Chilean novelist 
who died in 2003, tells the 
story in Joanna Silvestri 
of a porn star recalling a 
dreamy trip to Los Ange- 
les. It's from The Return, 
a newly translated col- 
lection of his work. From 
L.A. we travel to another 
town of bloodsuckers, 
Bon Temps, Louisiana, Ken Gross | 
where on several summer 
episodes of True Blood a dancer at the vam- 
pire bar Fangtasia will entice and entangle 
its owner, Eric. a native of 
Uzbekistan and an Iranian princess, plays 
the dancer; photographer 

captures her essence. Finally, 

( is our intrepid guide to a place 
where the bars are hidden in shadow. 
In the explosive Drinking in Islamabad 
we discover that in Pakistan, where the 
population is 95 percent Muslim, finding 
a good stiff drink can be difficult, if not 
dangerous. In fact, the stress of finding 
bars to hop may drive you to, well, drink. 
The vicious cycle is interrupted only by 
sleep—if you're lucky. 


Lawrence Osborne 


[*] BURN MORE CALORIES) 
с TONE MUSCLES] 
[=] IMPROVE POSTURE 


[*] REDUCE STRESS] 
ON BACKAND LEGS) 


VOL. 57, NO. 6-JULY 2010 


ROGUESÖF- 
К STREET 


The unbridled passion of the upstart Tea Party movement has upset the status quo 
in Washington, D.C. Now, an political operative reveals how he was 
hired to furtively spread the movement’s renegade message to all Americans. 


84 


NATASHA . 
ALAM 


REINVENTING THE WHEEL 

Bear witness to the cars of tomorrow. 
details their futuristic excellence 
from the Geneva Auto Show. 

SLEEP IS A BATTLEFIELD 
The newest frontier in the exploration of 
the subconscious—sleep science. 

explains how a simple snooze can 
influence our lives and our performance. 

THE BUNNY YEARS 

's celebration of the Playboy 
Clubs and the comely Bunny-tailed 
women who made them special. 

DRINKING IN ISLAMABAD 
Ever-parched visits one 
of the driest places on earth—Pakistan. 


OVERNIGHT SENSATION 
The swank hotels of are 
the lodging of choice for Hollywood's 
elite, but why? The hotelier ruminates on 
how he draws the A-list crowd. 


CAMERON DIAZ 
The model turned superstar actress on 
laughter, good sex and her uncontrollable 
booty shaking. By 


STEPHEN MOYER 
HBO's brooding bloodsucker tells 
why love doesn't bite. 


JOANNA SILVESTRI 
A legendary porn star recalls a long-ago 
visit to Los Angeles, during which she 
reconnects with a former lover and co- 
star who is dying of a mysterious disease. 
By 


In the past three years Natasha Alam has 
played a transvestite, a supermodel and a les- 
bian vampire. Her latest role: an exotic dancer 
(of the mortal variety) on the hit series True 
Blood. She displays her most biteable bits for 
photographer Steven Baillie and our Rabbit, 
who prefers garters to gardens. 


VOL. 57, NO. 6-JULY 2010 


LAYBOY 


GIRLS OF THE WORLD CUP 
They've got spirit, yes, they do. Thirty- 
two international beauties show their 
support for the 32 World Cup teams. 


га 
PLAYMATE: SHANNA 
MARIE MCLAUGHLIN 
Bask in the beauty of Miss July, a ray of 
Florida sunshine whose natural talent 
helped her win Playboy Shootout. 
FANGTASIA 
Natasha Alam, True Blood's new- 
est piece of vampire candy, exudes 
immortal sex appeal as she gets sultry, 
seductive and a little bit naughty. 


NUDISTS 


For it's just another day in 
the life of the perpetually unclothed. 


THE WS 
OF TIME 


Longtime collector 

instructs how to track down and pur- 
chase vintage watches. After all, the 
best timepieces are timeless. 


FON 


56 PLAYMATE 


SHANNA MARIE MCLAUGHLIN 


THE WORLD OF PLAYBOY 
Our Editor-in-Chief celebrates his 84th birthday in 
high style at the Mansion; NFL players and Playmates 
get silly at the Playboy Golf Scramble Finals; Hef's 
generosity helps save the Hollywood sign. 
HANGIN’ WITH HEF 
Jaime Pressly, Bryan Batt and Holly Madison join 
the birthday bash that never stops at the Palms in 
Las Vegas to honor you know who; Corey Feld- 
man, Craig Robinson, Bode Miller and other celebs 
flock to two big spring parties at the Mansion. 
PLAYMATE NEWS 
Miss November 2004 Cara Zavaleta hosts HDNet's 
hot new travel show Get Out!; Miss September 1998 
Vanessa Gleason finds redemption in Aztec dancing. 


PLAYBILL 

DEAR PLAYBOY 
AFTER HOURS 
REVIEWS 
MANTRACK 
PLAYBOY ADVISOR 
PARTY JOKES 
GRAPEVINE 


TOUGH IS DUMB 
Harsh jail sentences do little to lower 
crime rates. makes 
a case for smarter punishment. 
KILLING MACHINE 
explores how 
Nevada's first gas chamber may have 
inspired Hitler's twisted vision. 


PLAYBOY.COM 


Spill your personal 
sexy details anonymously and look for 
the final results in a coming issue. 

Been away awhile? Our 
Most Popular video list updates daily 
with our sexiest and funniest clips. 
Playboy 
models make America's national pas- 
time hotter than ever. 


Pretty Wild 
E! reality star Tess Taylor Arlington is 
our top online model for 2010. 

Keep up with your favor- 
ite Playboy models and stay on top of 
all things Playboy at facebook.com/ 
playboy and twitter.com/playboy. 


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HUGH M. HEFNER 
editor-in-chief 


JIMMY JELLINEK 
editorial director 
STEPHEN RANDALL deputy editor 
ROB WILSON art director 
MATT DOYLE photography director 
A.J. BAIME, LEOPOLD FROEHLICH executive editors 
AMY GRACE LOYD executive literary editor 
STEVE GARBARINO writer at large 


EDITORIAL 
тім Mc cORMICK editorial manager FEATURES: CHIP ROWE senior editor 
FASHION: JENNIFER RYAN JONES editor STAFF: JOSH SCHOLLMEYER Senior editor; 

ARANYA TOMSETH assistant editor; CHERIE BRADLEY senior assistant; GILBERT MACIAS editorial assistant 
CARTOONS: AMANDA WARREN associate cartoon editor COPY: WINIFRED ORMOND copy chief; 
BRADLEY LINCOLN, SANHITA SINHAROY copy editors RESEARCH: BRIAN COOK, LING MA, 

м. OSTROWSKI research editors CONTRIBUTING EDITORS: MARK BOAL, KEVIN BUCKLEY, GARY COLE, 
SIMON COOPER, ROBERT B. DE SALVO, GRETCHEN EDGREN, KEN GROSS, DAVID HOCHMAN, WARREN KALBACKER, 
ARTHUR KRETCHMER (automotive), JONATHAN LITTMAN, SPENCER MORGAN, JOE MORGENSTERN, 
CHRISTIAN PARENTI, JAMES R. PETERSEN, ROCKY RAKOVIC, STEPHEN REBELLO, DAVID RENSIN, JAMES ROSEN, 
DAVID SHEFF, DAVID STEVENS, ROB TANNENBAUM, ALICE К. TURNER 


CHRISTOPHER NAPOLITANO editor at large 


ART 
SCOTT ANDERSON, BRUCE HANSEN senior art directors; CODY TILSON associate art director; 
CRISTELA р. TscHUMY digital designer; BILL VAN WERDEN photo researcher; 
PAUL CHAN senior art assistant; STEFANI COLE senior art administrator 


PHOTOGRAPHY 
STEPHANIE MORRIS west coast editor; PATTY BEAUDET-FRANCES senior editor, entertainment; 
KEVIN KUSTER senior editor, playboy.com; KRYSTLE JOHNSON associate editor; 

BARBARA LEIGH assistant editor; АМҮ FREYTAG, STEPHEN WAYDA senior contributing photographers; 
GEORGE GEORGIOU staff photographer; JAMES IMBROGNO, RICHARD IZUI, MIZUNO, BYRON NEWMAN, 
GEN NISHINO, JARMO POHJANIEMI, DAVID RAMS contributing photographers; BONNIE JEAN KENNY manager, 
photo archives; KEVIN CRAIG manager, imaging lab; MARIA HAGEN Stylist 


PUBLIC RELATIONS 
THERESA M. HENNESSEY vice president; ков HILBURGER vice president, media relations 


PRODUCTION 
JODY J. JURGETO production director; DEBBIE TILLOU associate manager; 
CHAR KROWCZYK, BARB TEKIELA assistant managers; BILL BENWAY, 
RICH CRUBAUGH, CHERYL TJARDES, SIMMIE WILLIAMS prepress 


CIRCULATION 
SHANTHI SREENIVASAN single-copy director 


ADMINISTRATIVE 
MARCIA TERRONES rights & permissions director 


INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING 
DAVID WALKER editorial director; MARKUS GRINDEL marketing manager 


PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES INTERNATIONAL, INC. 
SCOTT FLANDERS chief executive officer 
ADVERTISING AND MARKETING: AMERICAN MEDIA INC. 
DAVID PECKER chairman and chief executive officer; KEVIN нузом chief marketing officer; 
MARC RICHARDS vice president, group publisher; JOHN LUMPKIN vice president, publisher; HELEN BIANCULLI 
executive director, direct-response advertising; MARIE FIRNENO advertising operations director NEW YORK: 
BRIAN HOAR spirits, gaming and entertainment manager; DAVID LEVENSON consumer products manager; 
PAUL SOUTH integrated sales director; ANTOINETTE FORTE national sports nutrition director; KENJI TROYER 
advertising coordinator. JULIA LIGHT vice president, marketing; NEAL LYNCH senior marketing manager; 
CARYN HAMMER marketing manager; ANDREW GARBARINO merchandising manager; JOHN KITSES art 
director; CHARLES ROMANO promotions coordinator CHICAGO: ѕсотт 1155 midwest director; 
‘TIFFANY SPARKS ABBOTT midwest manager DETROIT: JEFF VOGEL national automotive director 
LOS ANGELES: TAMI PRINS SIMON northwest director; LEXI BUDGE west coast account manager 


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A STAR IS REBORN 

Hef helped TCM kick off its Classic Film Festival by attend- 
ing the premiere of the restored feature A Star Is Born at 
= Grauman's Chinese Theatre. During Vanity Fair's afterparty 
he ran into longtime friend Cher. Hef extended his dedi- 
cation to preserving Hollywood history when he donated 
$900,000 to help save the Hollywood sign's iconic image 
from being compromised by real estate development. 


FORSTER 


EVERYBODY COMES TO HEF'S 
To celebrate his 84th birthday, Hef again trans- 
formed the Mansion into Rick's Café Américain 
and threw a black-tie affair. There was a dinner 
anda screening of his favorite film, Casablanca. “1 
opened the first Playboy Club [editor's note: cel- 
ebrating its 50th year] because of Casablanca," 
he says. “I wanted to have a place where people 
came to hang out as they did at Rick's." After the i N 
movie, Ray Anthony played *Happy Birthday" on 
his trumpet, and guests were served champagne, caviar and a cake on which Hef's photo 
was recast in the Humphrey Bogart role. It was a fun and romantic night, with Anna Berg- 
lund and Crystal Harris flanking the birthday boy. Here's looking at you, Hef. 


2 AND THEY PLAYED GOLF AS WELL 
| The Playboy Golf Scramble Finals was quite 
the event, drawing in our best golf girls and 
| NFLers to try their hand at the tricky game. 
Left to right, top to bottom: Pilar Lastra and 
Heather Rae Young coax the six-foot-eight 
Arizona Cardinal Calais Campbell to hula 
hoop. Dallas Cowboys Miles Austin and 
Kevin Ogletree, with Shannon James and 
Jaime Faith Edmondson, are pleased they 
didn't spring for the four-seater. Free agent 
Tony Parrish enjoys his off-time. Houston 
Texan Owen Daniels gets picked up. 


What do you give a man who has everything? A second birth- >” 
day bash. And he'll repay you іп full before the month is over 

by hosting a party for the Playboy Golf Scramble 
and a traveling zoo on Easter. (1) Hef's second 
party was thrown at the Palms in Las Vegas, where 
he was surrounded by girlfriend Crystal Harris, 
Playmates, Holly Madison and her friends from 
Peepshow. (2) One of the Palms’ owners, George 
Maloof, celebrates the Man's milestone. (3) Celeb- 
rities such as My Name Is Earl's Jaime Pressly and 
Mad Men’s Bryan Batt also join in on the fun. (4) 
Hef surrounded by Playboy Club Bunnies. (5) 
Hot Tub Time Machine's Craig Robinson at the Golf 
Scramble party. (6) Corey Feldman and PLAYBOY 
cover girl Ashley Dupré. (7) Patriot Wes Welker 
(left) with Miss May 2007 Shannon James. (8) 
Olympic gold medalist Bode Miller and Survi- 
vor's Corinne Kaplan unwind. (9) Hef and the 
Simmons-Tweed family connect on Easter. Here's 
Nick Simmons, Crystal, Hef, Gene Simmons and PMOY 1982 
Shannon Tweed. (10) Miss February 1990 and Dancing With 
the Stars stunner Pamela Anderson with Hefner. (11) Miss June 
2000 Shannon Stewart cozies up to a camel. (12) Cooper Hefner 
shares in Little Hank Baskett's first Easter, with Kendra Wilkin- 
son and Big Hank. (13) Blink-182's Travis Barker with Miss 
December 2001 Shanna Moakler and family. (14) Hef, Bridget 
Marquardt and Nicholas Carpenter. (15) Two guys who like to 
rock and roll all night: Simmons and the nocturnal owl. 


WHO INVENTED JAZZ? 

In 1924 Fred Stone, head of National 
Vaudeville Artists, predicted, "If jazz 
develops into a form accepted as music, 
there will be interest a century hence as to 
its origin." It hasn't quite been 100 years, 
but it's heartening to read Rich Cohen's 
deft exploration of the early days of the 
genre in The Spasm Band (May). Emile 
Lacoume, leader of the Spasm Band, went 
to his grave believing he was the inventor 
of jazz (the claim was even placed on his 
tombstone), but a growing body of evi- 
dence suggests jazz first appeared not in 
Storyville but in the neighborhood dance 
halls of New Orleans. Between 1897 and 
1907 Buddy Bolden's band developed a 
repertoire that combined dance music 
with street songs, Baptist spirituals, rag- 
time and blues in a mixture first known 
as syncopation or swing. Many jazz his- 
torians believe we'll never know how this 
music sounded since it wasn't recorded. 
My research suggests that, using methods 
developed by researchers in the classical 
field—studying the repertoire and instru- 
mentation, examining sheet music and 
accounts of performance practices—it is 
possible to perform elemental jazz. 

Daniel Hardie 
Sydney, Australia 

Hardie is author of four books on early 

jazz, including, most recently, The Birth of 
Jazz: Reviving the Music of the Bolden Era. 


ALL IN THE FAMILY 
In Godfather and Son (April) you 
describe John Gotti Jr. turning his back 
on his family business as "the death of the 
mob." That's hard to believe. Crime is to 
capitalism as butter is to toast. Look no 
further than Congress, where large sums 
of payola change hands every day. As а 
small-time mobster once told my father, 
if it weren't for the Mafia a whole lot of 
things wouldn't get done. 
Don McMonigal 
Surry, Virginia 


If John Angelo Gotti III wants to leave 
the life behind, maybe he should drop his 
last name. That's what Al Capone's son 
did, becoming Albert Francis. 

Charles Johnston 
Los Angeles, California 


Тһе formidable forces of the U.S. gov- 
ernment are nothing compared with a 
son's need for his father's approval. I 
commend John Jr.’s decision to head in 
a new direction. But, like myself, he has 
debts no honest man can pay. 

Michael Albanese 
Crossroads Correctional Center 
Cameron, Missouri 


HIGHER POWER 

In The New Psychedelic Renaissance (April) 
you quote a former Army Ranger who 
took ecstasy to treat his post-traumatic 
stress disorder. He has come to believe 
the drug should be part of the formal 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


License to Kill 


In The New Super Spy (May), Phil 
Zabriskie describes how, during our 
meeting in Edinburgh, I pulled out 
handwritten notes of things I wanted 
to tell him. However, a few of my 
points about the existence of a "license 
to kill" did not make it into the arti- 
cle. Although M16 denies that it gives 
agents a license to kill, Section 7 of the 
U.K.’s 1994 Intelligence Service Act 
states an agent shall not be held lia- 
ble for an otherwise illegal action that 
takes place outside the British Isles if 
the secretary of state judges it “nec- 
essary for the proper discharge of a 
function of the Intelligence Service.” 
Within this legalese is authorization 
for the secretary of state to assign law- 
ful authority, a.k.a. a license to kill, 
though as you’d expect, the wording 
is vague enough to allow the govern- 
ment to deny it. The U.S. has similar 
operational detachment teams. In this 
world, unless you ask precise questions, 
you tend not to get correct answers. 


discharge process. Why not make ecstasy 
part of the induction process? Why wait 
until after a soldier has suffered extraor- 
dinary trauma? 

Mike Baird 

Vancouver Island, Canada 


SCANDALOUS! 
The photos of former escort and cur- 
rent sex columnist Ashley Dupré (May) 


Ashley Dupré, an expensive temptress. 


are stunning. This is a woman with class, 
beauty and brains. 
Jonathan Calbetzor 
Summerfield, Florida 


In the April Next Month you promote 
the Dupré pictorial by writing, “Say what 


Nicholas Anderson 


We have to be economical with the truth 
while preserving your freedoms. 
Nicholas Anderson 
Nice, France 
“Nicholas Anderson” is a former MI6 
officer and author of the novel NOC. 


you will about [former New York gover- 
nor] Eliot Spitzer, but he didn’t go down 
in flames for any low-rent femme.” I 
assume that conclusion is based on East 
Coast rates, because Dupré’s story strikes 
me as stereotypical—major Daddy issues, 
no stability growing up, drug abuse and, 
finally, sex for money and a nonsensi- 
cal tattoo, in this case tutela valui, which 
translates roughly from the Latin as “pro- 
tection to be strong.” 

Graham Jura 

St. Joseph, Missouri 


A MAN'S PLACE 
I am surprised to see a garlic press 
included in The Alpha Kitchen (May). 
When you squish things, the juices come 
out and you lose the flavor. For an aficio- 
nado, hand peeling and fine dicing are 
the only way to prepare garlic. 
Brock Camper 
Denver, Colorado 


You mention that cast-iron skillets are so 
durable, some from the 19th century are 
still in use. My wife and I use a set of skil- 
lets and two Dutch ovens that crossed the 
prairie with her great-great-great-great- 
grandmother. The pans are so seasoned 
they are essentially nonstick. 

Lawrence Thompson 
Clovis, California 


ONE SMALL SNIP FOR A MAN... 
Ilove Dave Barry, and I enjoyed his 
story about getting a vasectomy (The Full 


13 


Saturday, August, 14% 2010 


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Coward Package, May). But it could have 
been worse. I had the procedure done 
while aboard a Navy ship at sea, in choppy 
waters, along with 15 colleagues. We felt 
nothing thanks to doses of Demerol admin- 
istered by a dentist assisting the surgeon. 
After applying ice packs and taking it easy 
for a day, we were back on the job. There 
was only one complication: One guy's ball 
swelled up like a cantaloupe (he showed 
me at about 0300 hours). He spent a week 
with his ball in a sling but was okay. 

Richard Mann 

Charlotte, North Carolina 


Barry says one of the reasons he had a 
vasectomy was his wife kept bugging him 
to do it. What a wimp! "Because my wife 
wants it" is the number one reason not to 
get snipped. Barry and his wife should 
have discussed other birth control options 
before he caved. 

Jeff Asch 
Redondo Beach, California 


BRUTAL QUESTIONS 

Тһе torture of prisoners Hillel Levin 
and John Conroy describe in Area Two 
(May) has deep roots in the Chicago 
Police Department. In 1931 the Wicker- 
sham Commission—charged by Herbert 
Hoover to investigate police brutality— 
concluded "the third degree is thoroughly 
at home in Chicago." Inverted suspen- 
sion, tear gas and beating suspects with 
phone books and rubber hoses drew 
quick (often false) confessions and left 
few marks. Lieutenant Jon Burge alleg- 
edly used similar techniques in the 1970s 
and 19805, including electric torture he 
almost certainly picked up while serving 
as an MP in Vietnam steps away from 
a South Vietnamese interrogation cen- 
ter. When the Wickersham report was 
released, Chicago's police commissioner 
denied its conclusions. "The third-degree 
method is not effective and is merely an 
indication of inefficient work on the part 
of the police," he said. This defense was 
self-serving, but his words ring true. Even 
if some of Burge's victims were guilty as 
charged, justice has been permanently 
marred by his methods. 

Michael Otterman 
New York, New York 

Otterman is author of American Torture: From 

the Cold War to Abu Ghraib and Beyond. 


Levin and Conroy err in their descrip- 
tion of U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald as 
the person who convicted Lewis "Scooter" 
Libby for divulging the identity of a CIA 
agent. Libby was convicted of lying to a 
grand jury. The person who revealed the 
agent's name to journalist Robert Novak 
was former deputy secretary of state Rich- 
ard Armitage. 

Michael Marks 
Silverton, Oregon 


Burge's methods are reminiscent of 
those from an earlier period in our history: 


the interrogation of African Americans 
in the Deep South during the Jim Crow 
era. This abuse continued until the U.S. 
Supreme Court extended Fourth and 
14th Amendment protections to inter- 
rogations conducted by state and local 
law enforcement. In both the Jim Crow 
era and Chicago in the 1980s a conspir- 
acy of silence directly contributed to the 
problem. Regardless of the resolution 
of Burge’s prosecution, it is incumbent 
that men and women in the criminal 
justice system—not only police officers 
but judges and prosecutors—under 
the watchful eyes of elected officials, 


Former Chicago cop Jon Burge in 2004. 


the public and the media, ensure that 
enough is enough. Otherwise, this stain 
on society and our system of law will 
not dissolve. 

Amos Guiora 

Salt Lake City, Utah 

Guiora is a law professor at the University 

of Utah and author of Constitutional Limits 
on Coercive Interrogation. 


MUY BELLA 
Thank you for the six beautiful, all- 
natural, tattoo-free women in Once Upon 
a Time in Mexico (May). 
Ross Johnson 
Destin, Florida 


You could find only Mexican women as 
white as I am? I realize many Mexicans 
resemble Europeans, but I also know from 
my visits there that many of the country's 
most beautiful women have dark skin and 
strong Indian features. 

Allena Tapia 
Lansing, Michigan 


SAFETY FIRST 
As a retired health and safety rep for 
the United Auto Workers, I'm alarmed to 
see in Fine German Engineering (April) that 
you placed the red-hot Alena Gerber so 
close to all that firewood. 
Darrell DiLuzio 
Brunswick, Ohio 


E-mail via the web at LETTERS.PLAYBOY.COM Or write: 680 NORTH LAKE SHORE DRIVE, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611 


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PLAYBOY AFTERHOURS 


AFTER HOURS 
— 


Sweet Dreams 


As part of a global movement to end the honey- 
bee crisis so much in the news, beekeeping has 
come into vogue. Apiculturists are even making 
honey on the roof of the Opéra de Paris. Want a 
taste ofthe action? Illinois-based Heritage Prairie 
Farm offers beehives for sponsorship to a small 
customer base that includes world-class chefs. 
Playboy sponsored a hive, and you can too. Pony 
up $600 and you'll get about 150 pounds bottled. 
Use it with everything from toast to bee's knees 
cocktails. Info at hpmfarm.com. For more honey 
pics, go to playboy.com/bunnyhoney. 


ALUED ARTISTS 


w REGINALD ROSE | Mac м FRANZ WAXMAN 
€ Lum 


INDIE LABELED: Cassavetes 
R is often called the father of 


Fighting Style ‚American independent film. 


Warner Bros. releases the fifth volume of its Film Noir 
Classic Collection on DVD this month. Included is Crime 
in the Streets, which kicked into high gear the career of 
actor-filmmaker-style icon John Cassavetes. Here's 
how to re-create this Cassavetes look: navy chino 
blazer ($70) by Lands' End, navy cotton shirt ($50) by 
Topman, standard slim dress pants ($54) Urban 
Outfitters and vintage-leather belt ($30) by Gap. 


Nice Cans 


Give Up the Bottle 


A new trend, just in time for sum- 
mer: great craft beer served up 
in cans. Unlike yesterday's cans, 
today's are lined with a water- 
based coating so the brew never 


touches metal. Also, the alui 
blocks light, which can 
flavor. Among 


our favorites 
are Dale's Pale 
Ale from Oskar 
Blues Brewery 
(Longmont, 
Colorado), 


Calderas IPA 
(Ashland, 
Oregon) and 
Bavik's wheat 
beer (Belgium). 


e — 
MARYLAND BLUE CR 

Tbushel large Maryland blue crabs 
212 oz.cans of beer 

2 cups cider vinegar 

2 cups Old Bay seasoning. 

1 сир kosher salt 

1b. butter > -- 

Saltine crackers (Optional) 


Summer Flavor 
Chesapeake Blues 


BS'STEAMED INBEER - i 


Maryland blue crabs are in peak season this month. Have them shipped directly from 
marylandbluecrabexpress.com. This recipe is courtesy of chef Mike Price (who grew 
up on the Chesapeake) of New York's Market Table. Pour beer and vinegar into a four- 
gallon crab pot with strainer. Layer crabs, seasoned with salt and Old Bay, upto one inch 
from top. Cover, bring to boil over high heat and cook for 25 minutes. Crabs are done 
when they turn bright orange. Meanwhile, cover a table with newspaper, mallets and 
condiments: plain melted butter, butter with Old Bay, plain cider vinegar, cider vinegar 
with Old Bay. Spill crabs directly onto newspaper and eat while the next batch steams. 


Delta Heat 


Louisiana needs your money (again). 
Here's one place to spend it: Capdeville, in 
the Warehouse District of the Big Easy (cap 
devillenola.com). An "American interpre- 
tation of a British social house,” this new 
watering hole melds cool Britannia with 
classic New Orleans. Saddle up at the bar 
with the seersucker set for a Guinness...or 
a bourbon milk punch. Don't be surprised 
if you're still sitting there six hours later. 


Gender Bender 
Sex and the Superhero 


This month Marvel Comics' fairest mutants 
take the spotlight in X-Women, a 46- 
page one-off issue written by longtime 
X-Men writer Chris Claremont and illus- 
trated by Italian artist Milo Manara, best 
known for his erotic drawings of beauti- 
ful women. Claremont promises pirates, 
dastardly villains, destruction and may- 
hem galore. And since all of this excite- 
ment will be portrayed seductively by 
Manara's skilled hand, X-Women is sure 
to be a titillating visual feast. 


BARMATE 


IN SEARCH OF AMERICA'S 
HOTTEST BARTENDERS 


Ashley Krystle 


PLAYBOY: Hello there. Where are we? 
ASHLEY: You're in Atlanta, at Buck- 
head's new hot spot, Havana Club. 
PLAYBOY: Amazing. It's like being in 
Cuba but surrounded by beautiful Geor- 
gia peaches. 

ASHLEY: That's the point. 

PLAYBOY: Guess you wouldn't be able 
to scare up a cigar, would you? 
ASHLEY: Actually we have a full cigar 
bar in the back if the mood suits you. 
PLAYBOY: Do you work the cigar bar 
as well? 

ASHLEY: No, I think they like to keep 
me out in the front. 

PLAYBOY: Shrewd. How do you like 
working here? 

ASHLEY: It's really cool. Most of the 
clientele are regulars and have become 
friends, so basically І get paid to hang 
out and do shots with my friends. 
PLAYBOY: We couldn't help noticing 
that you are hanging out a little. 
ASHLEY: What сап І say? І have to have 
the girls out! That's just how I roll. 
PLAYBOY: What kind of drink is your 
specialty? Cuba libre? 

ASHLEY: е I said, I like to do shots 
with my friends. ГЦ mix up some 
a.m.'s—have one now and you'll want 
to party into the a.m. 


A.M. (SHOT) 


1 part Ciroc Red Berry 
1 part Ciroc Coconut 
Splash of simple syrup 
Splash of sour mix 
Splash of 7Up 


Mix, serve in a shot 
glass and enjoy. 


SEE MORE OF ASHLEY 
AT CLUB.PLAYBOY.COM. 
APPLY TO BE BARMATE AT 
PLAYBOY.COM/POSE. 


AFTER HOURS 


In This Corner 


Fight Night 

What do you get when you mix 
an open bar, live pro boxing, a 
Texas Hold'em tourney, a sit- 
down chef-prepared dinner 
and music courtesy of star 
DJ-model Sky Nellor (left)? 
A supper-club boxing night 
in New York put on by WCMG 
Events and No Mas. Look for 
the next one at box-nyc.com. 


MARTIN AMIS 


Paperback Romance 


Penguin Books revolutionized the publishing biz in the 1930s by marketing good lit- 
erature in cheap paperback form. To celebrate its 75th birthday, the publisher is 
offering half a dozen reprints called Penguin Inks with covers inspired by tattoo art. 
Pictured: Martin Amis's scathing 1984 novel Money, Ian Fleming's From Russia With 
Love and David Foster Wallace's first work of fiction, The Broom of the System. 


Paint Job 


"If I hadn't become a paint- 
er, I would have liked to 
have been a movie director," 
Norman Rockwell once said. 
This month the Smithso- 


E & = nian American Art Museum 
ылы?” opens Telling Stories: Nor- 
== 


man Rockwell From the Col- 
lections of George Lucas and 


Wo DKA Po LSKA Steven Spielberg, with 57 


paintings from the directors’ 


private collections. Right: 
The Dugout from 1948. 


YOU'RE PROBABLY WONDERING 
WHAT BRUCE WILLIS WOULD DO 
IN YOUR SITUATION. 


WHY DON'T YOU ASK HIM? 


TRUTH! VODKA. COM 


AFTER IG REVIEWS 


Movie of the Month 


By Stephen Rebello 


In this season of brain-drain blockbusters, is 
there room for a visionary sci-fi action thriller in 
which international corporate dream-snatcher 
Leonardo DiCaprio raids the minds of the plan- 
et's most innovative tycoons? Writer-director 
Christopher Nolan describes Inception as "a 
metaphysical heist movie" starring Marion Cotil- 
lard, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Michael Caine. 
"With this film we're hoping to build on what we 
did in The Dark Knight, which had a snowball 
effect as we went further and further into creat- 
ing an experience of tension and dread,” says 
Nolan, who cites Blade Runner, The Matrix, Jorge 
Luis Borges and M.C. Escher among the film's 
influences. "In Inception, by entering the world 
of dreams we're trying to take audiences on an 
extreme journey that deals in levels of percep- 
tion versus reality. As Guy Pearce does in 
Memento, Leonardo DiCaprio really pulls the 
audience along on a ride that is not only visceral 
and engaging for the mind but is also 
the character's emotional journey.” 


It's amazing how a movie concept can morph based on the whims of studio 
execs. A few years ago Hollywood was all excited about an action-espionage 
comedy called Wichita (or Trouble Man), starring Chris Tucker and Eva Mendes. 
A few thousand script changes later and that same basic film has been tweaked 
to become Knight and Day, with Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz. 


* Things heat up down under whenever Australian actress 
Teresa Palmer undresses on-screen, as she does in 2008's 
Restraint (pictured), in which she plays a stripper on the 
lam with her boyfriend and a hostage. See her work a differ- 
ent magic as the love interest of the title character in The 
Sorcerer's Apprentice, starring Nicolas Cage. 


ame of the Month 


Players last left Pacific City after 
restoring order to the lawless 
streets while inadvertently un- 
leashing a killer virus. Oops! 
Crackdown 2 (360) is set 10 years 
later, when the futuristic metrop- 


Liperpows fat let You n 7 
! glide and húrt cars as you Battle! | 

to deliver-a cure. Take a break 
from establishing-order to wreak- 
-avoc online in Rocket Тад; а 


UFC Undisputed 2010 (360, Р53) 
Pummel opponents as one of 
more than 100 UFC fighters. Im- ; 
proved controls make it easier to 
dodge attacks while standing and 
deliver savage blows while grap- 
pling. Fights can even be stopped 
because of injury. Just hope the 
busted nose isn't yours. УУУУ 


Album of the Month 
Grace Potter and the 
Nocturnals Don't Stink 


renbaum 


Why do we hate jam bands? They dress badly, they smell 
worse, they play too long and they think a bass solo improves 
any song. Plus, they're way, way too male; you'll find more 
women at a Star Wars convention than on 

the Bonnaroo stage. 

Grace Potter and the Noc- 
turnals have solved that last 
problem. Their new, self- 
titled album runs like a 1973 
Mustang convertible and 
may make a star of Potter, 
27, who has already driven 
crowds crazy by playing a 
Flying V guitar while wearing 
go-go boots. Her sensual 
voice kicks up dust and rocks 
like a more volatile Bonnie 
Raitt, while producer Mark 
Batson, who has worked with 
Jay-Z and Eminem, keeps 
the songs trim. Leave it to a 
hip-hop dude from Brooklyn 
and a long-haired band from 
Vermont to collaborate on 
the year's best Southern- 
rock album. YY YY 


Tiger Woods PGA Tour 11 (360, 
PS3, Wii) Stop sniggering. It's a 
Ryder Cup year, and as captain 
you'll build a team of real-life pros 
and choose pairings for each round 
on a set of legendary courses, 
including, for the first time, the 
revered Celtic Manor Resort. Build 
a healthy lead as Woods, then jump 
to another match, where you can 
take control of a teammate. YY YY 


Checking In 


16-player rocket- launcher fight 


The Return of Devo 


New wave pioneers Mark 
Mothersbaugh and Gerald 
Casale explain why Devo has 
returned with Something for 
Everybody—and why they're 
used to being "the 

Rodney Danger- 

fields of rock." 


MM: Because, sad 
to say, what we 
were talking about 
during the 20th 
century is more ap- 
plicable than ever 
today. Back then 
people said we 
were cynical. Now the same 
people would have to admit 
that the world has devolved. 


GC: What exactly happened? 
We put out a record and no- 


ho 
м, 
be 


body cared. We're used to 
disdain—we're the Rodney 
Dangerfields of rock. 

MM: We've enjoyed being a 
lightning rod for hostility. 


GC: Obviously that could ruin 
a marriage. 

MM: It helps to be healthy if 
you're making love to a Devo 
record. The music has a de- 
manding tempo structure. 


LAST YEAR 219/o OF 
DATES WERE ARRANGED 
ASKCOM VIA E-MAIL AND 59/o OF 
RELATIONSHIPS WERE 
ENDED BY TEXTING. 


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No additives in our tobacco n.i 
does NOT mean a safer cigarette. К crac orit тока 0 US 
smokers 21 years of age or older. Limit one offer per person per 


12 month period. Offer void in MA and where prohibited. Other 
restrictions may apply. Offer expires 06/30/11. 


E Printed on 
30% PCW stock. 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking ее аа 


By Pregnant Women May Result in Fetal bes 
Injury, Premature Birth, And Low Birth Weight. Varo Sala F ыша о. 
© SFNTC3 


= MANTRACK 


TRAVEL : SMELL :: STYLE 


LLL AAA AAA AAA NAAA AA AAA AAA A AA AA AA AAA AMAN AMANDA AOS 


The Getaway 
Ditch the office. Paradise awaits in the Greek Isles 


As great as our nation is, we admit Europeans still have a leg up in some 
regards. Autobahns without speed limits? Topless beaches? What most grabs 
us, however, is their tradition of taking a month off in summer and hastening to 
seaside hotels and rental villas while we workaholic Americans remain at our 
desks. We hereby call our readers to action: Get out of Dodge. Here's a teaser: 
the Imperial Spa Villa, a rental paradise on the Greek island of Zakynthos, 
with four bedrooms, a huge pool and bar and your own private beach. Sure, it's 
expensive, but with the economy there, you might get a deal 
(inquire about rates and book at luxuryretreats.com). Ever use 
a BlackBerry as a skipping stone? It's very satisfying. 


On the Nose 


А classic cologne will never do 
you wrong—especially when 
that classic cologne is Jean 
Paul Gaultier's Le Male ($58 to 
$78, in stores), now at the age 
of 15 but still among the fresh- 
est scents around (top notes of 
bergamot and lavender). Better 
yet, the French fashion designer 
is offering a special summer edi- 
tion of Le Male, presenting you 
with a tough choice of which ver- 
sion of the fragrance to wear. 


Two for the Road 


Because the modern man must be able 
to multitask readily and flawlessly, 
behold these stainless-steel bottle- 
opener cuff links ($50, cufflinks.com). 
They, of course, have twin virtues: 
They match even the snazzi- 
est of attire, and more 
2 important, they can open 
any bottle of beer within 
reach, which will make 
whoever is wearing 
them the most popular 
guy in the room. 


26 


EMANTRACK 


The Buck Stops Here 


Equal parts backwoods and skateboard bowl, 
Supreme's wood-handled, brass-inlaid folding 
knife ($75, supremenewyork.com) is a collaboration 
between the skateboard lifestyle shop and the blade 
icon Buck Knives (established in 1902). That makes 
this chic, manly blade suitable for both the urban jun- 
gle and skinning nutria in the bayou. 


Hack Your Life: Finding Wi-Fi 


Internet access has become a basic 
human necessity. Consequently, 
finding an open Wi-Fi hot spot is 
as crucial to survival as fresh air. 
While several online resources 
map available Wi-Fi around the 
country, none of them are much 
help if you're not already online. 


Rock of АЦ 
Ages 

Crosley’s Audiophile 
Solo AM-FM radio and 
iPod speaker ($100, 
crosleyradio.com) may 
look as though it plays 
only Johnny Mercer's 
“Jeepers Creepers” 
and other standards 
from the 1930s, but 
the AroundSound 
technology guaran- 
tees you can properly 
blare AC/DC's “T.N.T 
at glass-shattering 
decibels. When test- 
ing this diminutive 
beauty—one of Cros- 
ley's many throwback 
models, complete 
with robot-like volume 
and tuner knobs—be 
sure to crank up the 
iPod speaker, which 
delivers high-tech 
acoustic consistency. 
Crosley's other gee- 
whiz handiwork 
includes modernized 
vintage home juke- 
boxes. Rockola! 


Enter WeFi (wefi.com), a free 
downloadable program (unfortu- 
nately only for PCs at the moment) 
that stores a local version of the 
most recent listing of nationwide 
hot spots and automatically logs 
you on to the nearest access point 
with the strongest signal. 


A Walk Down 


Gin Lane 


Want to add a dash of the 
1800s to your libations? 
Check out Oregon-based 
Ransom Cellars’ Old Tom Gin 
($36, ransomspirits.com). 
Ransom crafts the 
popular 19th century 
liquor (oft mixed 
in a tom collins) 
from malted barley 
and combines 
it with an infu- 
sion of botanicals 
including juniper 
berries, orange 
peel, lemon peel, 
coriander seed, 
cardamom pods 
and angelica root— 
according to drink 
historians, a dead- 
on re-creation. 
The end result is 
herbal and citrusy, 
with a distinctive 
amber hue. 


КО pd in гө үде е 


a al ral 


— — кәл... 


Match Na: 002 Bot N- 0215 


Му wife and I are noisy during 
sex. Our new neighbor, a minister, 
has asked me to tone it down. He 
says he doesn't want his daugh- 
ters to hear "filth," and if we con- 
tinue he'll call the cops. I don't 
think I should have to change 
the way we make love because 
a new neighbor is eavesdrop- 
ping. What do you think? —W.A., 
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 

We doubt he has a cup to the wall. 
We suggest you try, as an exercise in 
the lost art of civility, to tone it down. 
Ball gags may help. Your neighbor 
doesn't need to be so judgmental as to 
label your sweet lovemaking as filth, 
though perhaps that's a sign you're 
doing it right. We're surprised he 
hasn't done what everyone else in his 
situation appears to do, which is post 
an audio file on YouTube (search for 
"neighbors having sex"). The threat to 
call the police is not without teeth —in 
2009 a British woman was arrested 
for “excessively noisy sex” after neigh- 
bors complained. Her defense may 
prove useful. "I can't stop making 
noise during sex,” she protested. “It’s 
unnatural.” On a more serious note, in 
March an appeals court in New Jersey 
upheld the 10-year sentence of a man 
convicted of possessing marijuana that 
police discovered while investigating 
a report of screaming. The man and 
his girlfriend told the officers they had 
been having loud sex; when the cops 
searched the house to confirm no one 
needed aid, they found 12 and a half 
ounces of weed and 15 plants. 


I have little white bumps on the 
underside and base of my penis. 
Should I be worried?—K.C., 
Jacksonville, Florida 

No. They're harmless. Known as 
Fordyce's spots (after dermatologist 
John Addison Fordyce, who described 
them in 1896), they are sebaceous 
glands, which secrete sebum, an oily 
substance that hydrates the skin. 
They typically show up on the shaft 
and inside the foreskin on men and 
on the labia and vulva on women. 
Elsewhere on the body they are usu- 
ally accompanied by hair follicles. It’s 
unclear why they appear as bumps on 
the genitals, but studies have found 
them to be common. If your bumps 
are bothersome, a number of cosmetic 
treatments are available, including 
laser removal and a $45 cream that claims to 
smooth them (see fordycespots.com, though we 
can't vouch for it). Some topical treatments 
may actually make the bumps more prominent. 
While we're on the topic of penile topography, 
if the bumps appear in two rows around the 
corona they are hirsuties papillaris genitalis, 
a.k.a. pearly penile papules, which show up 
more often in uncircumcised men. While unap- 
pealing, they too are harmless. 


PLAYBOY 


p 


l have a fantasy in which I'm dating an athletic boxer 
who kicks my ass in a ring in front of a bunch of her 
girlfriends. My ex would box me before we made 
love. It's a real turn-on to get beaten up by a woman 
(not foxy boxing but real boxing). Do you know where 
I could find a lady who wants a personal punching 
bag?—M.H., Burbank, California 

A woman who wants to kick a man's ass? Where are we going. 
to find someone like that? For the uninitiated, foxy boxing is when 
two women box each other while wearing only leotards, bikinis, 
panties or nothing at all. This is different from a catfight, which 
doesn't involve gloves, and mud wrestling, which is a catfight in 
mud. Your particular interest is best described as femdom boxing, 
since it's female domination of a submissive male. Unless you 
and your ex get back together, you may have to hire a dominatrix 
and pay extra if you also want sex after your ass gets kicked. Or 
you could attempt to find an amateur Xena at personal-ad sites 
such as femdom.com, femdompersonals.net, domme.alt.com and 
dommeslave.com. We won't be placing any wagers. 


I started dating a guy two years ago. One 
day we got on the subject of my sister dress- 
ing her boyfriend like a girl as a joke. My 
boyfriend asked if that was something I 
wanted to explore. It began innocently 
with a dab of eye shadow but progressed 
to clothes, fake boobs, high heels, fishnets, 
makeup, jewelry, wigs and perfume. He 
has shut me out sexually but still engages 
in his own play, dressing as a woman and 


masturbating while watching vid- 
eos of men sucking strap-ons or 
taking it up the ass. I don’t know 
what to think. He says he isn’t sure 
what's wrong with his libido. What 
is going on? This form of play 
gives him an instant hard-on, and 
he has even admitted to dressing 
up on his own without me.—C.S., 
Boston, Massachusetts 

We hate to break it to you, but your 
boyfriend has left you for another 
woman. Unless he can figure out 
а way to include you in his play— 
to your satisfaction—we aren't sure 
how the relationship will continue. 
We suspect this isn’t a new inter- 
est but one that blossomed after you 
gave him that dab of makeup and 
the okay to leap out of the closet. 


How do you tell a roommate 
his girlfriend sucks? Four of us 
share an apartment. Lately my 
friend has been seeing a girl who 
smokes a carton a day and leaves 
tampon wrappers on our bath- 
room floor. We think she steals 
our porn, and she has twice got- 
ten so drunk she urinated on 
our couch. She backed into our 
neighbor's car at least once. We 
taped a note of complaint to his 
door, but he replied he doesn’t 
care what we think. How do we 
address this situation before we 
run out of cushions to flip? 
M.D., Dunmore, Pennsylvania 

If your housemate fancies himself 
a badass, your irritation may only 
* be making this woman more attrac- 
tive to him. "Fuck off, we play by our 
own rules!” works in the outback 
but not when you're paying just a 
quarter of the rent. The issue isn’t 
her behavior as much as your house- 
mate’s refusal to take responsibility 
for his guest. It may be time to find 
a place with three bedrooms. 


When 1 began using cologne 
back in the day, you aimed the 
bottle and sprayed where you 
wanted to smell good. Now, I’m 
told, the proper approach is to 
spritz a cloud of the stuff into 
the air and walk through it. Is 
there any benefit to this?—].S., 
Encino, California 

Your bathroom will smell better. 
The best way to apply scent is to put 
it on the tops of your forearms and 
each shoulder of your shirt. Why? Because the 
scent will be distributed as you move around. 
According to New York Times scent critic 
Chandler Burr, you can also lift up the collar 
and send a full shot down your back, inside the 
shirt. "Its a great way to get good diffusion at 
low volume," he says. "The scent is tamped 
down by the shirt but warmed and diffused by 
your back and the movement of your body." 
Many men dab cologne on their neck, but if 


27 


PLAYBO!Y 


28 


you get lucky and she starts kissing you there, 
she's going to get a mouthful. 


[purchased a pink Mustang convertible 
the owner said had been given to Donna 
Michelle in 1964 for being Playmate of 
the Year. He said it had been in his fam- 
ily since 1974 when they purchased it 
from a Texas junkyard after Donna had 
crashed it. Can you tell me more about 
the car?—C.O., Sydney, Australia 

Unfortunately no. When we asked Donna, 
who died in 2004, about the pink Mustang 
she received as her PMOY gift, she said she 
had immediately traded it for a less conspicu- 
ous (nonpink) VW Bug. We hear every month 
from readers who have purchased classic pink 
cars they were told belonged to a Playmate, 
but as with any collectible this is impossible to 
verify without documentation. According to 
Brad Bowling, co-author of Mustang Special 
Editions, Ford offered a noncoded promotional 
color (typically a paint code is marked on the 
doorjamb) called Playboy Pink in response to 
the “glamour halo” of Donna’s gift. Customers 
asked for it by name, and dealers ordered the 
cars to use for promotions, sometimes coupled 
with Playmate appearances. To further compli- 
cate matters, Ford offered a similar noncoded 
color called Dusk Rose. So while not just anyone 
could become PMOY, anyone could order a pink 
car. Bowling suspects many of these vehicles, if 
they survived and were ever owned by a guy, 
have been repainted. 


Can you recommend a corkscrew? I keep 
breaking off the spiral in the cork.—C.T., 
Inman, South Carolina 

That's likely happening because you aren't 
centering the spiral or are inserting it at 
an angle, which are common mistakes. Raj 
Kanodia, curator of Corkscrew.com, says a 
$15 Screupull Table Model will resolve this 
problem because it has a frame that fits over 
the top of the bottle to center the spiral. You'll 
look cooler pulling out a Forge de Laguiole 
"Le Sommelier" corkscrew, which has a bone 
handle and starts at about $180 but takes 
some practice to center. For a conversation 
starter we like the $45 Tire-Bouchon ZigZag. 
There’s also the Rabbit, which looks daunting 
but gets the job done; Kanodia has seen it used 
to remove a cork in less than five seconds. 


I watched a movie in which the double 
Dutch sex act is described. Two men face 
each other and grab their own erections. 
Using his free hand, each man grabs the 
forearm of the other and moves it back and 
forth to jerk him off. Is that gay?—M.C., 
Providence, Rhode Island 

All we can say with certainty is that it’s not 
something you see every day. 


An acquaintance who works with my wife 
informed me she had been caught cheat- 
ing on me at a company party. My wife 
and a co-worker were in an upstairs bed- 
room in a private home when their gasps 
and moans gave them away to someone 
passing in the hall. I was shocked but also 
extremely aroused. Since learning about 


this incident, I can hardly leave my wife 
alone—she turns me on more than I could 
ever imagine. I enjoy going down on her 
before and even after intercourse, some- 
thing I seldom did before. I haven't told 
her I know of her infidelity but would like 
her to continue having sex with another 
man (or men) and allow me to enjoy her 
immediately after or at least the next day, 
all in the open. How should I approach 
her about this without ruining what I 
have?—K.L., Omaha, Nebraska 

She probably suspects something is up, given 
your new enthusiasm in the bedroom. In fact, 
she тау see it as evidence you're being unfaith- 
ful to her. We recommend the direct approach: 
“I know you're cheating on me, but it turns me 
on. Can we talk about it?” We'd want to know 
why she lied to you. Is she unhappy? Even if 
you come to an understanding, will she get 
the same illicit thrill if she has your blessing? 
And will her adventures outside the marriage 
still turn you on? The minute you give your 
permission, she’s no longer cheating. It will be 
an interesting discussion. 


A reader wrote in April for advice on how 
to correct his golf swing. He wondered if 
his graphite shaft might be the culprit. As 
you said, nothing beats a solid swing, but 
I suffered years of failure thinking it was 
just me. After I had a pro measure my 
clubhead speed, he recommended a stiff- 
shaft driver. With practice and taking a 
little power off I now hit 250 to 280 yards. 
That beats the hell out of 320 yards when 
the ball lands on somebody’s house.—D.S., 
Wilsonville, Oregon 

You were smart to have your swing mea- 
sured; many golfers overestimate their speed, 
which leads them to choose a stiff shaft when 
they should be using a regular or a senior. A 
stiffer shaft provides more control, but you may 
lose distance, as you found. Generally if you 
aren't swinging faster than 85 mph, use a reg- 
ular shaft. Pro golfers, who use drivers with 
stiff and extra-stiff shafts, average 110 mph. 


Dave Barry’s essay about getting a vasec- 
tomy is a hoot (The Full Coward Package, 
May). I’m facing the same dilemma 
and having some qualms about giving 
up my fertility. What can you tell me 
about the VasClip? Is it more likely to be 
reversible?—R.T., Dallas, Texas 
Maybe—if it doesn't make you a daddy on its 
own. A number of doctors have reported high 
failure rates with the device, which is a plastic 
clip about the size of a grain of rice that snaps 
over and shuts each of the tubes. The advantage 
is that a doctor doesn't need to cut the tubes or 
burn them in half, which can reduce swelling 
and the risk of infection. Yet the few studies 
done on clip vasectomies have shown mixed 
results, and most insurance companies won't 
cover the procedure unless you get snipped. 
There's also no data on the ease or effectiveness 
of reversal. Sperm are hardy creatures; even in 
cases in which the vas deferens has been cut they 
can sometimes find new channels through the 
scar tissue that forms between the halves. That's 
why the most thorough doctors take both open 


halves, cauterize them, fold them over and bury 
them in different parts of the muscle. With the 
tube intact but clipped, finding a workaround 
may be much easier. Because life must go on, 
we recommend never challenging your sperm 
lo a duel of wits. 


Б there a list of books one should read to 
be a well-rounded man? I graduated from 
college last year but feel I haven't read any 
of the classics.—A.S., St. Louis, Missouri 
The Advisor's not enough for you? Being 
well-read is only one part of the equation, but 
here are 10 modern classics to get you started 
(you can read Shakespeare and Dostoyevsky 
once your brain is limber): The Great Gatsby 
by E Scott Fitzgerald; Slaughterhouse-Five by 
Kurt Vonnegut; Tropic of Cancer by Henry 
Miller; The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Ham- 
тей; Youth in Revolt: The Journals of Nick 
Twisp by C.D. Payne; Portnoy's Complaint by 
Philip Roth; Rabbit, Run by John Updike; 
Mankind: Have a Nice Day! A Tale of Blood 
and Sweatsocks by Mick Foley; She Comes 
First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Plea- 
suring a Woman by Ian Kerner; and Best of 
American Splendor by Harvey Pekar. 


People say you should never get involved 
with someone at work. What's the big deal? 
I hooked up with a co-worker. It doesn’t 
appear to be turning into a relationship, 
but we're sexually compatible and enjoy 
each other's company. Is there anything 
to worry about? S. H., Miami, Florida 

Yes—the breakup, especially if you work 
closely together. It’s a good idea to let your boss 
know you're together (though it’s probably 
apparent), unless you're dating your boss or 
you are the boss, in which case HR will want 
to be informed. Its interest, of course, is avoid- 
ing accusations of sexual harassment. How- 
ever, as long you can take no for an answer, 
the workplace is a great place to meet people, 
especially for guys. Helaine Olen, co-author 
of Office Mate, a handbook for finding and 
managing romance on the job, and a recent 
guest on The Playboy Advisor Show (Sirius/ 
XM 99), says women who marry co-workers 
often admit they never would have dated 
them. “We really don’t know what we want 
in a partner,” she explains. “We think we 
know, but you don’t pick a life partner based 
strictly on looks, as you would in a bar. You 
end up with someone because of how they act 
and think.” Working with a person gives him 
or her a chance to size you up over time. 


All reasonable questions—from fashion, food 
and drink, stereos and sports cars to dating di- 
lemmas, taste and etiquette—will be personally 
answered if the writer includes a self-addressed, 
stamped envelope. The most interesting, perti- 
nent questions will be presented in these pages. 
Write the Playboy Advisor, 680 North Lake 
Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 60611, or send 
e-mail by visiting playboyadvisor.com. Our 
greatest-hits collection, Dear Playboy Advisor, 
is available in bookstores and online; listen to 
the Advisor each week on Sirius/XM 99. 


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A candid conversation with the bubbly superstar about being an adrenaline 
junkie, the joys of caveman sex, co-starring with your ex and her life as a tomboy 


When Cameron Diaz topped Forbes magazine's 
2008 list of Hollywood's highest-paid actresses, 
some may have been blindsided. But others read- 
ily understood why the leggy blonde with the 
sultry face, smoky voice, dangerous curves and 
mile-wide grin had earned every penny of her 
$50 million payday. After all, it was love at 
first sight for millions of ticket buyers when the 
21-year-old former model came out of nowhere 
in 1994 to play a slinky cabaret singer in Jim 
Carrey's comedy rampage The Mask. The affair 
continued with Diaz's karaoke-bar scene in My 
Best Friend’s Wedding, another box office hit. 
She sealed the deal playing the dream girl who 
unknowingly uses horny Ben Stiller's baby Байет 
for hair gel in the 1998 smash There’s Some- 
thing About Mary, for which she won awards 
ranging from the New York Film Critics Cir- 
cle best actress honor to a Teen Choice Award 
for starring in the most disgusting scene. She 
memorably shook her rump to “U Can't Touch 
This” in the blockbusting Charlie’s Angels, 
won prestigious awards for roles in the offbeat 
Vanilla Sky and Being John Malkovich, and, 
with her husky voice and presence, made even 
the ogreish CGI heroine of the lucrative Shrek 
franchise seem delectable. 

Truth is, the funny, beautiful, sunny sex 
symbol whom both guys and women want to 
hang with has not only surprised audiences and 


“Working with Daniel Day-Lewis put a lot of 
things in perspective for me. I saw the way he 
worked and the outcome of his hard work. My 
brain doesn't work that way. I do the roles I do 
because of the person I am." 


critics again and again but has also been defying 
expectations all her life. Born in 1972 in San 
Diego, California, she is the second daughter 
of Emilio, a second-generation Cuban Ameri- 
can, and Billie, who is of English, German and 
American Indian descent. Growing up in Long 
Beach, Diaz learned to be sports-minded and 
outdoorsy from her father (who had hoped for 
ason). After attending Long Beach Polytechnic 
High, the tall, skinny tomboy blossomed into a 
beauty and was signed in 1989 by the premier 
Elite modeling agency. Gigs for such companies 
as Calvin Klein, Nivea and Levi's and posing 
for the covers of such magazines as Seventeen 
sent her globe hopping until, at the age of 21 
and with no professional acting experience, she 
landed the femme fatale lead in The Mask. 
Instead of exploiting her big movie splash, 
Diaz wisely chose to learn on the job; she slowly 
worked her way up in three years by starring 
in indie movies including She's the One with 
Edward Burns and Feeling Minnesota with 
Keanu Reeves. While on location for the latter 
she met Matt Dillon, who was filming another 
movie nearby. They had a three-year relationship. 
In 1999 she and actor Jared Leto began a four- 
year relationship. Her success in low-key films 
led to a stretch of high-profile work that includes 
Any Given Sunday, Gangs of New York, In Her 
Shoes, The Holiday, What Happens in Vegas 


“My booty has been on hiatus from film but cer- 
tainly not from everyday life, where it doesn’t stop 
moving. It's in constant sway and has a mind of 
its own. On camera, though, there hasn't been 
an opportunity for it to assert itself lately.” 


(which netted her a 2009 worst-actress Razzie 
nomination) and the misfired thriller The Box. 
Her offscreen fame rose commensurately, espe- 
cially when, in 2003 at the age of 30, she and 
22-year-old singer Justin Timberlake launched a 
much-publicized relationship that ended in 2007. 
Now happily single, she’s co-starring alongside 
Tom Cruise in the spy action comedy Knight and 
Day and with Seth Rogen in the twisted superhero 
movie The Green Hornet, in theaters this Christ- 
mas. Diaz looks poised to reclaim her position in 
America’s hearts, minds and fantasies. 

We sent Contributing Editor Stephen Rebello, 
who last interviewed Matthew Fox for PLAYBOY, 
straight into the heart of Sunset Boulevard cool- 
ness to interview Diaz. Rebello reports: “Cameron 
Diaz's carefree, openhearted, effervescent, incred- 
ibly sexy screen persona isn't smoke and mirrors. 
It’s impossible not to have а good time when you're 
around her. Under what occasionally sounds like 
surfer-chick speak, she is not only sharp, frank 
and wise but also scores big points for punctuat- 
ing some of her snappiest comments by cracking 
her knuckles. What's not to love?" 


PLAYBOY: On-screen you've helped shat- 
ter the old Hollywood myth that beauti- 
ful, sexy women can't also be funny. But 
in real Ше, can too much laughter get in 
the way of good sex? 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY MIZUNO 


"Oh gosh, I can't even count how many 
times I've gotten on a plane for love. It's not 
unusual in this business; my lifestyle demands 
it. I'm always traveling for [whispers] cock. 
You've got to go where it is." 


31 


PLAYBOY 


32 


DIAZ: I’ve never known too much laughter 
to get in the way of good sex. Of course, 
there’s a time to be funny and a time to 
not. It all depends on what you're laugh- 
ing at. If you're laughing while having 
sex, laughing at a certain thing about your 
partner—such as a physical attribute—that 
could definitely get in the way. 

PLAYBOY: Speaking of physical attributes, 
you've shaken your famous backfield in 
memorable dance numbers in The Mask, 
two Charlie's Angels movies and The Sweet- 
est Thing. Don't tell us you've permanently 
retired from booty shaking since What 
Happens in Vegas. 

DIAZ: My booty has been on hiatus from 
film but certainly not from everyday life, 
where it doesn't stop moving. It's in con- 
stant sway and has a mind of its own. On 
camera, though, there just hasn't been an 
opportunity for it to assert itself lately. 
PLAYBOY: We can understand that absence 
in Shrek Forever After, but what about in the 
upcoming Knight and Day with Tom Cruise 
or The Green Hornet with Seth Rogen? 
DIAZ: There's a lot of running and chas- 
ing in Knight and Day. It's a very physical 
film—lots of action and a love story with 
Tom. It isn't a typical romantic comedy, 
nor is it hokey or clichéd. My character 
is a regular girl who starts off unsure of 
herself, then discovers what she's capable 
of when she becomes partners with this 
superspy, Tom, who also realizes what he's 
missing in his life. 

PLAYBOY: Cruise has been known to get 
intense with his movie stunts. Were you 
up for that? 

DIAZ: For one scene, Tom and I ride a 
motorcycle during the annual week of 
bull runs in Pamplona, Spain. Phenom- 
enal stunt riders did the majority of the 
riding, but for the runs we did, the adren- 
aline was definitely up. 

PLAYBOY: How did it feel to be in the mid- 
dle of all that chaos? 

DIAZ: You have to be so focused, centered 
and calm. We had 10 pissed-off bulls slip- 
ping, sliding and falling in front of us on 
cobblestone streets. Tom was letting off the 
throttle, then speeding up again, reading 
and gauging the situation every second— 
I mean, it's not as though either of us had 
ever done anything like that before. You 
can't be scared; you don't have time. You 
have to be able to see everything going 
on around you. 

PLAYBOY: Judging by your grin, the danger 
must have created quite a rush. 

DIAZ: I love creating moments like that. 
That's why I snowboard and surf. Going 
to the gym is an important part of my 
routine too. I always want to take care 
of my body. I love being in the moment. 
I don't sit still easily. My mind is always 
going. When you're doing something like 
racing cars, you can be only in that one 
moment, and I love that. 

PLAYBOY: Your face and figure have put 
you in front of cameras since you were 16. 
Do you fear sports-related injuries could 
damage your looks? 


DIAZ: I definitely have an understanding 
of being in front of the camera, but it's a 
bit different for me these days. I broke 
my nose surfing and had to have it fixed 
three years ago so I could breathe. They 
had to move my nose a bit, and it totally 
changed the way my face photographs. I 
don't understand my face anymore. It's a 
totally different language. But you know, 
it's just my face, right? [laughs] 

PLAYBOY: When you were making Knight 
and Day, did Tom Cruise seem differ- 
ent from when you two did Vanilla Sky 
in 2001? 

DIAZ: Same guy. Tom is super. He's a spe- 
cial person. He's passionate about making 
movies and passionate about his family. 
Those are the two most important things 
in his life, and he lives that. Working with 
Tom drove me to want to show up every 
day as driven and excited as he does. 
PLAYBOY: Did you ratchet up your gym 
training because of him? 

DIAZ: I just wanted to be strong and have 
the stamina to run up and down those 
streets and do whatever it took. Tom 
trained much harder than I did. He was 
like a maniac. 


I might have seen Seth 
Rogen high but didn’t com- 
pletely know it. I didn’t 
partake with him. He might 
have been high the entire 
time for all I know. 


PLAYBOY: Have you always taken care of 
your body? 

DIAZ: Never, until I did Charlie's Angels. Y 
learned then what it feels like to be strong 
and capable and to realize my body's abil- 
ity to be physical. I'm a physical person. If 
at any point in the day it became a struggle 
for me to do something, I couldn't forgive 
myself. At 37, I’m too young not to have 
strength and capability in my body. 
PLAYBOY: Is it important that the man in 
your life is at least your physical match? 
DIAZ: Absolutely. Women my age are 
expected to be as hot or hotter than 
25-year-old women, but most men don't 
take care of themselves. As women get 
older, their bodies get better; my body 
certainly has. Women get to a place where 
all of a sudden we know we have to take 
care of ourselves and we do something 
about it. It's a totally different standard 
for men and women. 

PLAYBOY: But aren't Hollywood guys fanat- 
ical about being in shape? 

DIAZ: The challenge for a 37-year-old man 
is that a woman doesn't want him if he's 
not already successful. But women also 
want men to still be hot at 37. If a man has 


become successful, he thinks he doesn't 
have to take care of himself to get the girl. 
I want to know that the man I'm with is 
taking care of himself. It's a virility thing, 
an animal thing. 
PLAYBOY: Did you and Seth Rogen have 
any sort of animal thing going while mak- 
ing The Green Hornet? 
DIAZ: I was on the movie only nine days. I 
play Lenore Case, who is the main charac- 
ter's secretary, and my stuff in the movie 
is just the beginning of our secretary-boss 
relationship. Seth is amazing. The direc- 
tor, Michel Gondry, is a super-eccentric 
genius. They're two very unlikely people 
to be making a superhero movie, so I'm 
sure it has to have something of a twist. 
PLAYBOY: Rogen has been known to pub- 
licly sing the praises of weed. Did you ever 
see him partake? 
DIAZ: I might have seen Seth high but 
didn't completely know it. I went to a 
party one night where I think there was 
some stoneage. People were definitely 
pretty baked, but I didn't partake with 
him at that time. [laughs] He might have 
been high the entire time for all I know. 
PLAYBOY: You just finished making Bad 
Teacher, a comedy with Justin Timberlake. 
You two ended your relationship in 2007. 
How was it working with a former lover? 
DIAZ: We're adults. Of course we could 
work together. It's been three years since 
we broke up. It's all done. We're living two 
completely different lives from the one we 
lived together, so why wouldn't it work? 
Iwanted the best person for the job, and 
Justin’s perfect. We knew as soon as һе 
agreed to do the film the tabloids would 
have a field day with it, which they have. 
We also expected it would be sexist, with 
them saying I was "after him" in some 
way, like it was a soap opera or something. 
But we wouldn't let the small-mindedness 
of other people stop us from making the 
decision that was best for the film. We're 
friends; he's really talented and funny, 
and he Killed it, he's so hilarious. 
PLAYBOY: How do you feel about Shrek 
Forever After being the final movie of 
the franchise? 
DIAZ: It's hard. I've loved playing the role 
in all four movies. I don't know what I 
can do about it. I keep saying that maybe 
I can start a petition to keep the Shrek 
movies going. 
PLAYBOY: You were born in San Diego but 
grew up mostly in Long Beach. What 
were things like in the Diaz house? 
DIAZ: My father was Cuban and my 
mother is English, German and Chero- 
kee. They instilled a great work ethic in 
me and my sister, Chimene, who is two 
years older. They were young, really cool 
and worked their asses off. There was also 
a general party feel in my house. We all 
loved to laugh and loved being together. 
My mother was an importer-exporter, 
and my father was an oil foreman who ran 
crews digging holes in Brea, California. 
He hated his job. Every night he'd come 
(continued on page 104) 


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34 


CONFESSIONS OF A 
TEA PARTY CONSULTANT 


verything I know about being a 

good consultant comes from Fight 

Club. Discretion is everything. Rule 

number one is you don't talk about 

consulting for the Tea Party. Rule 

number two is you don't talk about 

consulting for the Tea Party. The 

story about the wild characters who 

are shaping this campaign cycle is worth tell- 
ing, but please excuse my anonymity. 

I hold as many meetings as possible over 
Tanqueray and tonics at the St. Regis hotel on 
K Street in Washington, D.C. The bar is dark 
and private, with comfortable couches. Even 
the gin tastes better there. On weekday after- 
noons the only people in the bar are foreign- 
ers and political consultants long past caring 
about who actually wins. 

"You're going to see something spectacular," 


PAINTING 


an old friend who has a knack for black-bag op- 
erations said as he proudly downed his vodka. 
"About a month from now you'll see ACORN 
explode from within." Right on schedule a vid- 
ео was released that showed undercover con- 
servative activists James O'Keefe and Hannah 
Giles getting advice from employees at the 
Baltimore office of the Association of Com- 
munity Organizers for Reform Now on how 
to smuggle underage El Salvadoran girls into 
a fictitious brothel. 

That's when I realized this isn't an average 
fringe movement. This one is credible, legit 
and—for the first time in a decade—scaring 
the crap out of the left. In my years as a cam- 
paign hack and then as a consultant, I've cre- 
ated more than my share of fake grassroots 
organizations. Some were downright evil but 
effective beyond expectations. Did you get an 


BY KELSEY BROOKES 


automated call from the sister of a 9/11 
victim asking you to reelect President 
Bush in 2004? That was me. Did you 
get a piece of mail with the phrase sup- 
ports abortion on demand as a means of birth 
control? 'That may have been me too. 

Conservatives had been trying to take 
down ACORN for three decades. Where 
they failed, BigGovernment.com and my 
friends succeeded. In one magnificent 
explosion, a loose group of troublemak- 
ers, libertarians and Republicans took 
its first scalp. Sonja Merchant-Jones, 
former co-chair of ACORN's Mary- 
land chapter, told The New York Times in 
March, "That 20-minute video ruined 
40 years of good work." 

The ACORN blood tasted good. 
Shortly after, a core group of about 30 of 
us convened for the first time. It was the 
kind of conference call during which no 
one, except the handful with nothing 
to lose, offered last names. But it didn't 
matter. I'd been around long enough to 
know many of the people by voice. Most 
of our talk was devoted to rants about 
the K Street lobbyists who are ruining 
the СОР. There I sat, in the quiet corner 
ofa coffee shop on K Street, listening to 
a conference call beating the shit out of 
the people who keep me in business. 


Тһе cynical among us think it's a group 
of peasants with pitchforks controlled 
by an underground cabal of Glenn 
Beck, wealthy donors and the guys 
who killed JFK. But the worst thing I 
can say about the Tea Party I work for 
is that it can make lots of noise but can't 
win without professional help. I love 
the irony of helping run this organiza- 
tion from the St. Regis Bar. 

This cause is worthier and more 
real than anything I've done in the 
past. I’m all in. When I met the color- 
ful characters behind the organization, 
I was really all in. None of them were 
prom king, none went to college east 
of the Appalachians (even the Jews), 
and a lot of them smoke a pack a day 
just because they're not supposed to. 
Unlike most of the tired, airbrushed 
conservatives living in D.C., the home- 
grown activists I work with are the real 
deal. They may not read much, but 
they all know their Ayn Rand. Back- 
country rubes they are not. They have 
tattoos, even tramp stamps. My favor- 
ite is on Katie O'Malley, the executive 
director of Ensuring Liberty Corpora- 
tion: RONALD WILSON REAGAN, 1911-2004. 

I get out of Washington whenever 
possible, especially during tourist sea- 
son. In late spring I visited a Tea Party 


rally in suburban St. Louis. It was what 
you would imagine: angst-ridden Cau- 
casians sitting in lawn chairs with signs 
such as MY DAUGHTER IS NINE AND ALREADY 
$41,000 IN DEBT. It was not an angry 
crowd, and in all candor I never heard 
a racist word uttered. 

The speeches went on for hours. The 
sun was shining. It was the kind of day 
when you could take a nap under a tree. 
The organizer had personally delivered 
about a thousand activists. It was her 
big day. Two hours into the speeches 
she sat down on the warm grass next 
to me at the back of the rally and said, 
"This is the perfect day. Now all I need 
is a joint." That tells you everything you 
need to know about my friends. 

We are tremendously plugged in to 
BigGovernment.com and its stable of 


writers. Our 
news ee is TEA PARTY 
maes nor MEMBERS 
ance АВЕ CON- 
flash mob, a  SERVATIVES, 
BUT DON'T 
CALL THEM 
wesen REPUBLICANS. 
of George W. Bush, sprinkle in some 


and a con- 
servative who 
anxiety and you've got my people. 


feels betrayed 


The campaign plan for one of the 
organizations I help uses the phrase 
black arts when talking about how 
we'll win in the fall. It's not a docu- 
ment filled with dirty tricks but a plan 
to create a nonprofit organization 
called Ensuring Liberty Corpora- 
tion. It uses unconventional methods 
to get our message out and support 
grassroots conservatives: "Ensuring 
Liberty's relationships run deep into 
the new media and use of cloud com- 
puting and innovation along with the 
black arts of campaign management. 
That is not to say that [we] will under- 
take actions that contravene any legal 
or ethical principles; however, the use 
of surprise, investigative journalism 
and other key experience will allow 
for rapid deployment of strategies 
that many candidates simply do not 
understand or take advantage of dur- 
ing their actual election campaign." 
Of course, the Tea Party is not as 
cohesive as anyone thinks. It's not a 
party or even an organization. You 
have to understand the state of the 
Republican (continued on page 100) 


S 
E 
y 

1 


"Well, gee—when he said he wanted to ‘hit the hay,’ I just figured 
he was sleepy..." 


ШШЕН OF THE ШЕШЕНИН 


WORLDGUP 


TN 


THIS TEAM OF 


CAN SHOW YOU 
HOW TO 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY 


In terms of global popularity, the 
World Cup is the greatest sporting 
event in existence. It's world war on 
the soccer field. Every four years one 
nation gets crowned preeminent. 
During these 31 days starting June 
11, across the globe, fans pack bars 
to see their heroes gun for glory. The 
only ones working harder than the 
players? The bartenders pouring all 
those pints. Will defending champ 
Italy walk off with the laurels? Num- 
ber one ranked Brazil? Stay tuned. 
Meanwhile релувоу offers some World 
Cup talent that’s worthy of its own 
highlight reel. Enjoy the action. 


GERMANY 


1 
¡ORTH KOREA 


ENGLAND ? SLOVAKIA 


N 


PORSCHE 918 SPYDER =] 


GERMANY’S LATEST SILVER ARROW IS A HYBRID STUNNER 


HIGH ROLLER 

Hailed by many as the 
most beautiful hybrid ever, 
Porsche's latest concept саг 
claims near 200 mph speeds 
and 78 mpg. Inside, as in an 
F1 car, all major controls are 
grouped close to the steering 
wheel. The center console is 
slick and intuitive. 


DOES TODAY'S HEIGHTENED environmental awareness mean 
the end of high-horsepower supercars? Porsche's latest world- 
view projects a hybrid future. The sleek 918 Spyder offers more 
than a hint of what the German company has in store. Check out 
these stats: more than 500 bhp at 9,200 rpm, zero to 62 in 3.2 
seconds, 78 miles per gallon(!). Porsche claims the car is capa- 
ble of a sub-7.5-minute lap at the Nürburgring. This is the next 
Porsche supercar, have no doubt. Power emanates from a 3.4-liter 
V8 linked to three electric motor-generators. Energy is stored via a 
lightweight lithium-ion battery pack located behind the seats. On 
full electric you sail along, helped by ultralight construction (the 
Spyder weighs only 3,285 pounds) and advanced aerodynamics. 
Shift to Sport Hybrid or, even better, Race Hybrid, and the adjust- 
able wing extends to improve downforce, ram air scoops boost 
thermodynamic efficiency, and the 918 knocks on the 200 mph 
door. Porsche will test its radical hybrid system in its 911 GT3 R 
Hybrid at the 24-hour Nürburgring endurance race. The company 
would like to run it at Le Mans in a few years. 


CARROZZERIA BERTONE HAS PRODUCED outrageous bodies 
for Alfa Romeo since the 1930s and Ferraris starting in the 1950s. One 
repeating theme from this Turin coachbuilder has been show cars with 
an entire side that opens for ease of access and no small amount of 
drama. The Pandion, which celebrates Bertone's 75 years of collabo- 
ration with Alfa, catapults this sidewinder concept into a new iteration. 
Named for a fierce sea hawk, the Pandion has spectacular 12-foot- 
long doors, which are inspired by the flying predator's wings. Mike 
Robinson, leading Bertone's design team, reinterpreted the "inherent 


BERTUNE PRNDIDN 
NEW MOVEMENT IN ITALIAN DESIGN 


duality” in the Alfa Romeo badge's man-eating snake and cross with a 
theme he calls "skin and frame." The skin refers to the twisted snake, 
which represents Italy's tradition of seductive automotive beauty; the 
cross (or frame) represents the country's historic excellence in tech- 
nical advancements. Resolving the tension between these opposites 
underlines the Pandion's essential message: sensual and techno- 
logical, emotional and rational, organic and structural, industrial and 
artisanal. The front-mounted Alfa 4.7-liter V8 (shared with several 
Maserati models) puts out 440 bhp. Top speed: 199 mph. 


43 


A 


MERCEDES F800 STYLE 


STEP INTO THE NEXT-GEN SEDAN 


MERCEDES-BENZ CELEBRATES ITS 125th 
birthday next year, so leave it to the Benz boys 
(and girls) to present the premium sedan of the 
future. The F800 Style research vehicle is what 
you'd expect from the industry's high-tech and 
safety leader. The car's Distronic Plus Traffic 
Jam Assistant, for example, lets the F800 auto- 
matically follow the vehicle in front of it, even 
into bends, without steering input. (Yes, the car 
can drive itself.) As for power, buyers may have 
two options: electric drive with fuel cells or a 
plug-in hybrid configuration. The electric's 136 
bhp motor develops 184 foot/pounds of torque. 
The front-mounted fuel cell, a quartet of hydro- 
gen tanks and a lithium-ion battery are tucked 
neatly out of harm's way in the event of a crash. 
Alternatively, the speedy hybrid links a 3.5-liter 
300 bhp V6 with a 109 bhp electric motor. The 


THE RDAD AHEAD 
M-B's radical F800 


doors for improved 


access. The control city driving range in all-electric mode is about 
panel is touch and 18 miles, emissions free. Even better, zero to 62 
voice activated, so mph with all systems go is 4.9 seconds. Mer- 


you never have to take cedes says this plug-in hybrid will be an option 
your eyes off the road. for its next S-Class. 


FERRARI 599 HY-KERS i > 
MRRRNELLD ROLLS OUT ITS FIRST HYBRID 


FERRARI’S TECHNOLOGICAL innovations have 
always centered on the art of performance while never 
failing to stay true to the marque’s history and tradi- 
tion. So a hybrid from the Italian supercar maker is a bit 
of a shocker. Ferrari outfitted its 599 GTB Fiorano with 
its Hybrid Kinetic Energy Recovery System (HY-KERS). 
Engineers kept the 599’s lusty V12, but its alternator 
is replaced with a motor-generator to drive accesso- 
ries when the engine isn’t running. Three battery packs 
are tucked below the floor pan. You get all the hybrid 


+ 4 ‹ 
tricks: regenerative braking, low-speed electric drive, کی‎ 

even an electric boost when you hammer the accelera- 

tor. The reenergized V12 simultaneously propels the car E 

and charges the battery pack. Given the strict European 

emissions regs that are pending, Ferrari plans to deliver 

the car to customers in the not too distant future. 


REVERED BY BRITISH ROYALTY, driven by 007, a winner at Le Mans, Aston Mar- 
tin epitomizes good taste and old money. Some say Aston's audacious chief executive, 
Dr. Ulrich Bez, has gone a London Bridge too far with his Cygnet concept. The logic is 
Simple: European cities are old and subject to pollution, with little room to drive, let alone 
park. But people of discernment don't take the Underground. The answer? A luxury mini- 
commuter. Aston took a Toyota iQ city car and hand finished it with magnificent leathers, 
special paint, lots of high tech and a killer six-speaker stereo. Under the skin: a 1.3-liter 
four-cylinder that gets 58.9 mpg and emits very little СО. Aston plans to put the concept 
into production early next year, with a tag upward of $45,000. 


LUXURY FUEL SIPPER 


The motoring press has hammered 
Aston Martin for its Cygnet, basi- 
cally a Toyota iQ dressed up with the 
appointments you'd expect from the 
superluxe British carmaker, such as A 

a bespoke interior and an iPod dock. BRITISH STYLE MEETS 


44 Will Aston buyers bite? We’ll see. _ JAPANESE UTILITARIANISM 


In the 1950s and 19605, big auto 
companies realized the value 

of the dream car as a market- 
ing tool—how a striking piece of 
Science fiction on wheels could 
nudge potential customers into 
a showroom. Here are a few 
favorites, clockwise from above: 
Ford's 1962 Seattle-ite XXI had 
four steerable front wheels; Alfa 
Romeo's 1953 Bat 5; GM’s 1956 


A VISION DF THE COMPACT DF TOMORROW 


electric-car maker, sells a 
speedy Roadster, but at $109,000, only rich kids need apply. Tesla’s 
Model S sedan is refined and upscale. The manufacturer needs a youth- 
ful, affordable plug-in car to appeal to new buyers. Tesla design chief 
Franz von Holzhausen retained Instituto Europeo di Design of Turin to 
develop a concept. The assignment: Design a full-size model of an afford- 
able compact 2+2. With help from Pininfarina's Luca Borgogno and Fiat 
designer Andrea Militello, 11 graduate students teamed up on this green 
dream car. Called the IED Tesla EYE, the sensationally swoopy and aero- 
dynamic concept is 167 inches long, about eight inches shorter than a 
Prius and with a slightly lower height. The roofline opens, offering the 
possibility of transforming the EYE into a roadster or even a sporty pickup 
truck. The show car had no engine. Will the company build it? Proba- 
bly not, but we can expect to see some of its elements in future Teslas. 


THE GOLDEN AGE DF THE AMERICAN CONCEPT CAR 


Firebird Il, inspired by the new 
breed of military jets; Plymouth's 
1960 XNR; Ford's 1954 FX-Atmos; 
Buick's 1951 LeSabre, designed 
by the great Harley Earl. 


46 


еге I am, Joanna Silvestri, 37 years of age, profession: 

=) porn star, on my back in the Clinique Les Trapézes in 
Nimes, watching the afternoons go by, listening to the 
stories of a Chilean detective. Who is this man looking for? A 
ghost? I know a lot about ghosts, I told him the second after- 
noon, the last time he came to see me, and he smiled like an old 
rat, like an old rat agreeing listlessly, like an improbably polite 
old rat. Anyway, thank you for the flowers and the magazines, 
but I can barely remember the person you're looking for, I told 
him. Don't rack your brains, he said, I've got plenty of time. 
When a man says he has plenty of time, he's already snared (so 
how much time he has is irrelevant), and you can do whatever 
you like with him. But of course that isn't true. Sometimes I get 
to thinking about the men who've lain at my feet, and I shut my 
eyes and when I open them again the walls of the room are 
painted other colors, not the bone white I see every day, but 
streaky vermilion, nauseous blue, like the daubs of that awful 
painter Attilio Corsini. Awful paintings I'd rather not remember, 
but I do, and that memory flushes out others, like an enema, 
other memories with a sepia tone to them, which set the after- 
noons wavering slightly and are hard to bear at first but in the 
end they can even be fun. I haven't had that many men at my 
feet, actually: two or three, and it didn't last, they're all behind 
me now—that's just the way of the world. That's what I was 
thinking, and I would have liked to share it with him, even 
though I didn't know him at all, but I didn't say any of this to 
the Chilean detective. And as if to make up for that lack of gen- 
erosity, I called him Detective, I might have said something about 
solitude and intelligence, and although he hastened to say, I'm 


ILLUSTRATION BY JEREMY ENECIO 


48 


not a detective, Madame Silvestri, I could tell that he was glad 
T'd said it; I was looking into his eyes when I spoke, and 
although he didn't seem to turn a hair, I noticed the flutter- 
ing, as if a bird had flown through his head. One thing stood 
in for the other: I didn't say what I was thinking, but I said 
something that I knew he would like. I said something that 
I knew would bring back pleasant memories. As if someone, 
preferably a stranger, were to speak to me now about the Civi- 
tavecchia Adult Film Festival or the Berlin Erotic Film Fair 
or the Barcelona Exhibition of Pornographic Cinema and 
Video, and mention my triumphs, my real and imaginary 
triumphs, or about 1990—the best year of my life—when I 
went to Los Angeles, almost under duress, on a Milan-L.A. 
flight that I thought would be exhausting but in fact went by 
like a dream, like the dream I had on the plane (it must have 
been somewhere over the Atlantic): I dreamed that we were 
heading for Los Angeles but going via Asia, with stops in 
Turkey, India and China, and from the window—I don't know 
why the plane was flying so low, but at no point were we, the 
passengers, at risk—I could see trains stretching away in vast 
caravans, a mad but precisely orchestrated railway mobiliza- 


better forgotten), 


ee 
— and there 


— were people embarking 

and disembarking and goods being loaded 
and unloaded, all of it clearly visible, as if I were looking at 
one of those animations that economists use to explain how 
things work, their origins and destinations, their movement 
and inertia. And when I arrived in Los Angeles, Robbie Panto- 
liano, Adolfo Pantoliano's brother, was waiting for me at the 
airport, and as soon as I saw Robbie I could tell he was a gen- 
tleman, quite the opposite of his brother Adolfo (may he rest 
in peace or do his time in purgatory, I wouldn't wish hell on 
anyone), and outside there was a limousine waiting for me, 
the kind you only see in Los Angeles, not even in New York, 
only in Beverly Hills or Orange County, and we went to the 
place they'd rented for me, a unit by the beach, it was small 
but sweet, and Robbie and his secretary Ronnie stayed to help 
me unpack my bags (though I said really I'd prefer to do it 
on my own) and explain how everything worked in the unit, 
as if I didn't know what a microwave oven was—Americans 
are like that sometimes, so nice they end up being rude—and 
then they put on a video so I could see the actors I'd be work- 
ing with: Shane Bogart, who I knew already from a movie I'd 


done with Robbie's brother; Bull Edwards, I didn't know him; 
Darth Krecick, the name rang a bell; Jennifer Pullman, 
another stranger to me; and so on, three or four others, and 
then Robbie and Ronnie went and left me on my own, and I 
double locked the doors as they had insisted I must, and then 
Itook a bath, wrapped myself in a black bathrobe and looked 
for an old movie on TV, something to relax me completely, 
and at some point I fell asleep there on the sofa. The next 
day we started shooting. It was all so different from the way 
I remembered it. In two weeks we made four movies in all, 
with more or less the same team, and working for Robbie 
Pantoliano was like playing and working at the same time; it 
was like one of those day trips that office workers and bureau- 
crats organize in Italy, especially in Rome: Once a year they 
all go out to the country for a meal and to leave the office and 
its worries behind, but this was better, the sun was better, and 
the apartments and the sea, and catching up with the girls 
T'd known before, and the atmosphere on the set: debauched 
but fresh, the way it should be, and I think it came up when 
Iwas talking with Shane Bogart and one of the 

girls, the way things had 


tion, like an enormous clockwork mechanism spread out оуег changed, 
the region, not a part of the world that I know (except МСЕ ze 
for a trip to India in 1987, which is Р 


— 


Е" 
ы me DISEASE. 


and naturally, for a start, I put it 
down to the death of Adolfo Pantoliano, who was 
a thug and a crook of the worst kind, a guy who had no 
respect, not even for his own long-suffering whores; when a 
bastard like that disappears, you're bound to notice the dif- 
ference, but Shane Bogart said no, it wasn't that; Pantoliano's 
death, which had come as a relief, even to his own brother, 
was just a detail in the bigger picture, the industry was under- 
going major changes, he said, because of a combination of 
apparently unrelated factors: money, new players coming in 
from other sectors, the disease, the demand for a product 
that would be different but not too different; then they started 
talking about money and the way a lot of porn stars were 
crossing over to the regular movie industry at the time, but 
I wasn't listening, I was thinking back to what they'd said 
about the disease, and remembering Jack Holmes, who'd 
been California's number one porn star just a few years before, 
and when we finished up that day I said to Robbie and Ron- 
nie that I'd like to find out how Jack Holmes was doing and 
asked them if they had his number, if he was still living in Los 
Angeles. And although Robbie and Ronnie thought it was a 
crazy idea at first, eventually they gave me Jack's phone num- 
ber and told me to call him if that's what I wanted to do but 
not to expect him to be coherent, (continued on page 97) 


Te 
3)! 


"Are you absolutely sure this package contains no explosives whatsoever?" 


49 


HERREN d * po ^N 
is TRUE BLOOD'S 174-YEAR-OL 
¿VAMPIRE TALKS ABOUT HIS 

15 AFFAIR, HUMAN-ON-UNDEAD SEX 


AND WHAT HE REALLY THINKS 
BOUT ақ 


01 
"Were about to see you in your third season of.play- 
n Bill Compton, the hot-blooded, brooding, reformed 
74-year-old Southern vampire on True Blood. Having shared 
е show's steamiest sex scenes with Anna Paquin, 
5 Sookie Stackhouse, a vampire-loving telepathic 
; what can you tell us about human-on-undead sex? 
ER; Unlike werewolves, who are very hot, vampires are 
E 2 cold, so sex with the undead isn't going to get hot 


may be able to have sex that lasts for days. 

ex is muscular and physical, so it could be tir- 

n guy to have sex with a female vampire. 

of women's attraction to vampires is 
ased onthe сї that vampires come from centuries 
5 of chivalry and courtly virtues. So it's 


sexual dynamic you just described 
li e the one you have in real life with 
hom you met, fe love with and'became 
ce the two of started doing True 


е 
15 


EIL 
A BATTLEFIELD 


HH НЕШП COOH 


Se 


As researchers unlock the mysteries of the human dream state and the need 
for rest, they find buried evolutionary cues, keys to wakefulness and the 
borderline betueen memory and madness 


Screen door hangs open. Voices inside, shouting. 
You haven't slept for 40 hours, but you're wired, 
adrenalized, Glock drawn, following the voices to 
the kitchen— 

—where a black male, early 20s, has a black female 
by the arm. He's got a gun. She's holding a baby. 

You announce yourself. "Police!" 

He aims at you. The baby's head is inches from the barrel of his 
gun. Do you shoot? No, you hesitate for the split second it takes 
him to say 

“Motherfucker!” 

——and kill you. Pop pop. Bullets hit your chest and you think, 
Ow, that stings! 


Too bad. You were too slow. The air cannon over the simula- 
tor got you with nylon bullets that leave red blotches on your 
chest. Those welts would be bloody holes if this were real life 
instead of a simulation in a lab at Washington State University 
Spokane, where you just died in the name of sleep science. 

“Deadly-force scenarios can tell us a lot,” says Bryan Vila, 
director of the university's Simulated Hazardous Operational 
Tasks Laboratory. A tattooed ex-marine and former police 
chief, Vila is studying the reaction time and judgment of cops. 
“What's the impact of the adrenaline burst that hits you when 
a situation turns deadly? Can it offset a night without sleep? 
Two nights?” Like many of us, police officers are often sleep- 
deprived, working overtime and double shifts. Vila, who wrote 


A STANFORD UNIVERSITY RESEARCHER WEARS GOGGLES THAT SHOW WHEN HE STARTS DREAMING DURING REM CYCLES. 


the book Tired Cops, expects his work to save lives on both sides 
of the badge. Next door to his (аһ, where cops trade their service 
revolvers for simulation-ready laser Glocks, is WSU Spokane's 
Sleep and Performance Research Center. Here law enforcement 
types and other experimental subjects sleep under infrared cam- 
eras in beds hooked to brainwave monitors. The data aren't in yet, 
but sleep is starting to give up its secrets. 


Sleep science didn't start until the 1890s. In those days nobody 

knew if your brain shut off like a light at night or opened at the ears 

to let dream demons in. Researchers didn't identify rapid eye move- 
ment (REM) sleep until 1953. (They considered reporting it earlier, 
but they were worried about wasting paper on something so weird.) 

Since then the field has boomed, with the most striking discoveries 

coming in the past few decades: 

* Seventy million Americans have trouble sleeping. Some are proud 
of it, but they may be deluded or insane. The more we learn about 
sleep, the more essential it turns out to be. 

* Fatigue costs the U.S. economy an estimated $136 billion a year. 

* Chronic sleep deprivation screws up hormones and may help cause 
obesity—a finding that could get McDonald's off the hook. 


CURUE. 


boiled down to an in-joke: Sleep is like sex, money and Johnnie 
Walker Blue. Most of us don't get enough. 


You don't have to be a cop, a firefighter or an air traffic controller 
for sleep to be a matter of life and death. All you have to do is 
drive to work. 

"Falling asleep at the wheel is epidemic," says Dr. William Dement, 
who founded the world's first sleep Lab, the Stanford University Sleep 
Research Center. Dement drives defensively, particularly at night, be- 
cause he knows America's roads are full of half-asleep drivers who 
cause 100,000 crashes and more than 1,500 deaths a year. People 
who wouldn't dream of driving drunk think nothing of driving drowsy: 
Іп опе рой 28 percent of licensed drivers admitted to nodding off at 
the wheel. That translates into more than 50 million drivers. Add a 
few drinks and Saturday night turns into a demolition derby. 

Perhaps you think you can tough it out—focus harder, roll down 
the window. Dement says you're wrong. "The problem is sleep defi- 
cits impair your judgment,” he says. "You may think you're fine, but 
you're weaving down the road." 

Most drivers have experienced microsleeps, nodding off at the 
wheel for a second or two. You wake when your tires hit the shoulder 


HAPPEN RT A 


* According to one theory, dreams can break through into waking 
life—that's schizophrenia. 

* Lack of sleep exaggerates the effect of alcohol. With enough sleep- 
lessness, three drinks can hit you as hard as six. 

* Ducks sleep with half a brain. One hemisphere sleeps while the 
other—including a wide-open eye on the opposite side—keeps a 
lookout for predators. 

* Elephants sleep about four hours a day, opossums 18. Bees are like 
us: six to eight hours. The researcher who did the bee study said he 
knew they were asleep because their antennae got droopy. 

+ Some people sleepwalk. Others sleep-eat, sleep-drive or sleep-e-mail. 
Still the prime question looms: What is sleep? To Shakespeare 

it was "nature's soft nurse." To Poe, "slices of death" We know 

that we eat to get fuel and breathe to oxygenate our blood, but 
at the end of the day—and the night—sleep is still a mystery. 

It's possible the brain needs to shift gears while its cells repair 

themselves. Maybe sleep is for memory filing, with some of the 

day's memories getting saved while others are sent to the trash. 

Or maybe evolution built us to lie Low at night, safe from noctur- 

nal predators. For now everything anybody knows for sure can be 


or a curb. "That's a common occurrence," says Vila. "Usually nothing 
bad happens because most roads are straight. The trouble is when 
microsleeps happen at a curve. Then you're flying off the road when 
you open your eyes." 

The airborne car is one outcome of sleep dep. There's also the 
melting nuclear core, the exploding spaceship and the big-box store 
zombie. Sleep-deprived workers helped cause the Three Mile Island 
meltdown in 1979, the Challenger space shuttle explosion in 1986, 
the Chernobyl nuclear disaster in 1986 and the Exxon Valdez oil spill 
in 1989. Reality shows stress contestants by keeping them awake. A 
lack of sleep makes for better TV—high emotions and low inhibitions. 

Or take the Lousy work of a discount chain employee who describes 
his attitude as "sleepy as hell but used to it.” Like countless others, 
he works in a world where sleep deprivation is the new normal. He 
behaves like a tired old circus tiger dozing on his chair, eyelids droop- 
ing, only waking when a whip is cracked. Then he nods off again, 
missing his cues while the other tigers roar and jump through hoops. 
When the spotlight hits him at the end of the show, he prances to his 
cage as if he hasn't missed a beat. 


How can people live this way? They think, (continued on page 112) 


“ 
Ho 
wm 
any fri 
riend. 
s did 
you 
say are X 
ing o 
ver t 
onigh 
OU 


mM 


ot long after arriving in Los Angeles 

from Orlando last August, Shanna Marie 

McLaughlin spotted an ad on Craigslist 
for a new Playboy TV reality series, Playboy Shoot- 
out. Sensing the perfect opportunity to launch a 
modeling and acting career, she decided to try 
out for the show, a contest featuring 10 models 
and 10 photographers, each vying for a chance to 
appear in the magazine. Shanna not only aced the 
audition, she won the entire competition. "The 
whole experience of being judged while naked 
and surrounded by cameras was amazing but 
also completely nuts!" says the 25-year-old, who 
describes herself as a “guy’s girl” for her love of 
fishing, football and darts. "It was like Playmate 
boot camp." With her modeling career success- 
fully under way, Shanna now hopes to turn her 
attention to another passion—business. Before 
leaving for California, she was three classes shy 
of earning a master's degree in business adminis- 
tration from the University of Central Florida. In 
fact, she already co-owns an event-planning com- 
pany in Florida called Tiki Bash (“Get tropically 
impaired," boasts its website). ^I want to use my 
business background and stature as a Playmate 
to help form a charitable foundation that acts as 
an angel investment firm for women looking to 
go to graduate school or start their own com- 
pany," she explains. "I am determined to fight 
the stereotype perpetuated by the media that 
Playmates are all ditzy blondes. Personally, I am 
incredibly proud of this experience. Becoming a 
Playmate was always a dream of mine, so now that 
the dream has come true, watch out!" 


BOTTOM LEFT: MISS JULY SHANNA MARIE MCLAUGHLIN 
STRIKES A WINNING POSE FOR PHOTOGRAPHER KATE 
ROMERO ON THE REALITY SERIES PLAYBOY SHOOTOUT. 


ON PLAYBOY TV'S SHOOTOUT. 
NOW SHE'S MISS JULY 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY ARNY FREYTAG 


%- 


See more of Miss July 
at club.playboy.com. 


PLAYMATE DATA SHEET 


Sen na. Manie Me hün 
BUST: SHD wrr 24 нге. Se _ 
HEIGHT: СЕ WEIGHT ا‎ 
BIRTH DATE _Ssiiciss _ BIRTHPLACE: _ West Palm Beach FL - 
amerttons..| Want to do a lot in ea. model, own 


my own business and stant a ®undaton. 


ток ов, LOW HANS, Spontaneous, Athletic with 
a positive, fun-loving Grtitude. Inspine me. Ù 
Tune CML Stand au» who ane 102 М. Ф, 
оће. Gantuda, шом 100 hard ола, 
o confident in selves... \ © \ 


MY DEFINITION ОЕ sexy: A WOMAN NO 15 ODD 
in hun own Skin and not afraid to flaunt it. 


ык ту эшн 2 e Deny ld of SeinfeldL. 
x feeds mu, Geaman-lnish sense of Soncasm— 
\ anu N teasina and beina HES U 
summer masson: | 1044 Fur Son, Sand, waten and Spirit 
of tua islands! WS ам. about Hu vitamin D! 


inst Modelin 
dc Yeans old. 


Howe Comp, р budding Playmate, 
ane \®. ee 


WATCH MISS JULY'S VIDEO DATA SHEET AT PLAYBOY.COM/DATASHEET, 


у, 
E 


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«| 


Ш | 


PLAYBOY'S РАНТҮ JOKES 


А man in a nursing home received a bottle 
of wine as a birthday gift. Excited, he con- 
vinced the woman who lived in the room 
next to his to share it with him. After they 
finished the wine the man began to fondle 
the woman and remove her clothes. He man- 
aged to get her blouse and bra off before she 
stopped him. 

“T can't do this,” she said. “I have acute 
angina." 

"God, I hope so," the man replied, "because 
you've got the ugliest tits I've ever seen." 


What is the definition of mixed feelings? 
Watching your mother-in-law back off a cliff 
in your new car. 


A couple was watching a documentary about 
a West African tribe. They learned that when 
each male member of this particular tribe 
reaches a certain age, he has a string with a 
weight attached to it tied around his penis. 
After a while the weight stretches the penis 
until it's 24 inches long. 

Later that evening, as the man was getting 
out of the shower, his wife said, "Why don't we 
try the African string-and-weight technique?" 

The husband agreed, and they tied a string 
with a weight to his penis. 

A few days later the wife asked, "How is our 
little experiment coming along?" 

“Well,” the husband replied, “it looks like 
we're about halfway there." 

Impressed, the wife said, "You mean it's 
already grown to 12 inches?" 

"No," the husband replied. "It's turning 
black." 


А man and his wife went to see a marriage 
counselor to try to work out some of their 
problems. Once they were seated together on 
the therapist's couch, the counselor said, "To 
start off, let's talk about something the two of 
you have in common." 

“Well,” the husband said, "neither of us 
sucks dick." 


А man accidentally bumped into a woman in 
a hotel lobby and his elbow collided directly 
with her breast. 

"I'm so sorry," the man said, "but if your 
heart is as soft as your breast, I know you'll be 
able to forgive me." 

Тһе woman replied, "If your penis is as hard 
as your elbow, I'm in room 221." 


Viagra ought to come in liquid form. 
Then you could really pour yourself a 
stiff one. 


An elderly man entered a confessional booth 
and said, "Father, I just had a threesome with 
two college coeds." 

"Your penance will be to recite two 'Our 
Fathers,“ the priest replied. 

“I don't know how to do that,” the man said. 
"I'm not Catholic." 

"Well then why are you telling me this?" the 
priest asked. 

"Because, Father," the man replied, "I'm tell- 
ing everyone!" 


Al Amen 


Three friends were debating which of them 
had the best memory. 

The first man bragged, “I can remember the 
first day of first grade.” 

“Oh yeah?” the second man countered. 
“Well, I can remember my first day of nursery 
school.” 

“Hell, that’s nothing,” the third man said. 
“I can remember going to the senior prom 
with my father and coming home with my 
mother.” 


How can a man tell when a woman is too fat 
for him? 

If she sits on his face and he can’t hear 
the stereo. 


Send your jokes to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY, 680 
North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 60611, 
or by e-mail through our website at jokes.playboy 
.com. PLAYBOY will pay $100 to the contributors 
whose submissions are selected. 


"When you invited me to join you and your girlfriends fora 
foursome, I naturally assumed....” 


67 


FIFTY YEARS AGO HUGH HEFNER 
CREATED A BRICICAND-MORTAR 
VERSION OF HIS MAGAZINE. IN SO 
DOING, HE CHANGED THE WORLD 


IN THE 
BEGINNING 


hen the first Playboy 

Club opened on Febru- 

ary 29, 1960 on Chi- 
Street, there w 


As humo 

Art Buchw; 

put it, *Not 
le 
of 


¢ symbol 
capital of 
the United 
States. 
Crowd 
swarmed— 
nearly 
17,000 r E ы 
guests Bunnies in 
me in the first month alone. In y High Places 
e last three months of 1961 the 
ore than 13. 4 The Bunnies were associated 
with the allure of air travel. 
Big Bunny (left) had its own 
crew of Jet Bunnies. At right, 
a Bunny serves bubbly on 
a 1961 charter flight to the 


that would soon have outposts MENS ры 


across the country and in pla 


Club would 
American ideal: 
the Bunny. 
Hugh Hef- 
ner had already 
revolutionized 


(text continued 
on page 108) 


THE FIRST PLAYBOY CLUB OPENED IN CHICAGO AT 116 EAST 
WALTON STREET. THE DOORS SWUNG OPEN FOR THE FIRST 
TIME ON THE COLD NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 29, 1960. 


It came аз no surprise that Bunnies 
became stars. Deborah Harry, Gloria 
Steinem and Lauren Hutton (below, 
= from top) all did the Bunny dip at the 
© New York club. 


amnmasmau ‘ 


"ea 


A National Groove 
The club concept spread across the U.S., from New York 
to San Francisco. That's Playmate Joyce Міггагі (above 
left) opening the doors to the New Orleans club. 


Bunny Fete 
Bunnies were entertainers, too. The 
1976 Bunny of the Year Pageant was 


broadcast as an ABC-TV special. The London Playboy Club (below) 


swung with its fabled casino, 
while the Manchester Casino Club 
(above) staked its reputation on 
hot dice and beautiful women. 


International 


Playboy Clubs were popular across 
the globe. Above, Yurika Aoki wel- 
comes members to the Tokyo hutch. 


montréal ШИ  PETROIT ттетт ШЩТ BOSTON Portsmouth 


as Lake Geneva and Great Gorge 
offered a variety of winter pursuits. 


Los Angeles 
The City of Angels was a natural 
location for Playboy, which had suc- 
cessful clubs there for 20 years. Hef 
lived above the first L.A. Playboy 
Club, on Sunset Strip. 


The Jamaica resort was the 
first club operation outside 
the U.S. It offered everything 
from water sports to limbo 


ATLANTA 


) 


жау * 2 
sl IS d 


“We can't go on meeting like this, Charles. “Toe got it! Let's all get dressed and 
My husband is getting suspicious.” play strip poker.” 


72 “Miss Cavendish! I didn't know "Thank you very much, Mr. Gray, but 
you'd been away." ГЇЇ do those." 


“Look natural...!” 


“Hey, look at Miss Summers without her glasses. 
Why—why, she’s beautiful!” 


73 


a 


Gübelin's Moon Phase is an em- 
blem of worldliness, displaying 
the day and топїһ in Spanish. In 
the 1950s it exemplified Rat Pack 
style (Peter Lawford etal.). 


Persas 


exceedingly wealthy-aviat 
à la Howard Hughes and 


As part of their military service 

during World War Il, British 
Royal Air Force officers received 
this Omega watch. 


RIES. IN THIS WAY, WATCHES OF A CERTAIN AGE-GENERALLY TWO DECADES OR OLDER-SÉRVE. MORE = — 
AS TIME CAPSULES THAN TIMEPIECES. HERE ARE SOME OF OUR FAVORITES AND WHERE"TO BUY_THEM. 4 


1. The 18-karat gold GÜBELIN MOON PHASE (1950, $18,895) was including a chronograph feature and automatic operation. 4. The 
made for South Americans; that's why the day and month appear World War И officer issue OMEGA MILITARY (1940s, $1,950) sports 
in Spanish. 2. GRUEN'S AIR FLIGHT (1961, 53,200) switches to mili- the British arrow insignia. It was worn by fighter pilots. 5. Once 
tary time after noon; the numerals change from 1, 2, etc., to 13, 14... popular with Hollywood A-listers, the 14-karat gold GRUEN CUR- 
З. ZENITH'S DE LUCA (1988, $6,650) has all the bells and whistles, МЕХ TRIUMPH (1939, $3,995) has a curved face and mechanism. 


American watch icon Нат- 
ilton. named the Piping 
Rock after the tony Long 
country club back 
«when Bobby Jones was the 
king of clubs. 


6. The face of the ELGIN ARTICULATED LUG (1930s, $750) can be 
worn on the side of the wrist, making it easy to check while driving. 
7. The 14-karat gold LORD ELGIN SCROLL CASE ($2,450) was 1940s 
bling; the gold mesh band was custom made, typical of the well- 
heeled of the day. 8. HAMILTON made the art deco stunner PIPING 
ROCK (1929, $3,750) while the stock market was in free fall. 9. The 
ZODIAC GLORIOUS AUTOGRAPHIC (1959, $2,250) has a unique 


Whenever Humphrey Bogart 
needed to check the time 
at Rick's in Casablanca, he 
consulted the Gruen Curvex 
Triumph adorning his wrist. 


Zodiac's stainless-steel 
Glorious Autographic has an 
elegant silver linen dial. It 

was popular in the early 1960s 
among effortlessly stylish men. 
Think Joe DiMaggio. 


36-hour power-reserve indicator so you know when it needs a wind- 
ing. 10. GALLET of Switzerland, the world’s oldest watchmaker 
(1466), made this U.K. MILITARY CHRONOGRAPH (1915, $3,975) 
for the pocket, but it was later customized for wrist wear. For any 
vintage watch purchase, be sure to enlist a reputable dealer such as 
Father Time Antiques in Chicago (fathertimeantiques.com), which 
provided all the timepieces above, along with their prices. 


Alcohol is prohibited for Muslims 
Pak , and for everyone else 


ga mene ss ЕЕ ndis din А 


ЕРІ sS AE m sy тәгі 


in search of a cocktail 


n my 11th night in Islamal 

б the Serena hotel to meet а Pakistani 
my fathers. The Dawat restaurant on the 
the city, just as the Serena is the 
insisted on anonymity, leaned over the tab 


usinessman who had 
otel's ground floor is 


e and whispered that 


ad, tired of orange juice and sultry ice cream, I went to 


by far the grandest in 


akistani capital's only true luxury hotel. My guest, who 


the Afghan president, 


Hamid Karzai, was staying in one of the suites upstairs. "We might see him at dinner," 


he said. “We might be—alone with him." 
of considerable plushness. It didn't seem 
would soon be enjoying a nice 
you could get a drink in the city’s hotels, 


hair so disconcertingly popular 
whisper. He wanted to know у] 


at I was d 


among aging Pakistani men, tall 


looked around at a d 


loing in Islamabad. Т 


esolately empty room 


ikely that Karzai would appear or that we 
bottle of Bordeaux, though I was hopeful. I had heard 
and not the fruit kind always on offer. We 
were both in crumpled suits, awkwardly off-key. My guest, with 


the violently hennaed 
ked іп an unnecessary 
е country was hardly 


for the tourist trade, and he was pretty sure I was not “an American operative.” 


“I came,” I said, also whispering, “to see if I could get drunk 


ere. 


once been a friend of 


He looked panicked. 

“Are you serious? Get drunk in 
Islamabad?” 

In one of the most dangerous and 
alcohol-hostile countries in the world, I 
had wondered what it would be like to 
intoxicate myself. 

“You put that on your visa application?” 
he burst out. 

I admitted that getting my visa in New 
York had certainly been an ordeal. Weeks of 
questions, delays, paranoia inside the Paki- 
stani embassy in D.C. Once when I called 
to inquire as to the status of my never- 
appearing visa an embassy employee had, 


after a polite altercation and a few expres- 
sions of frustration, screamed at me, “We 
dont have your passport! Go away now!” 

My guest laughed. 

“Yes, I see. They thought you were a 
visiting alcoholic.” 

“I am a visiting alcoholic,” I said. 

From a palatial marble lobby came the 
sound ofa lonely pianist struggling with the 
simple tunes of “Love Story,” which echoed 
over and over through the Serena’s glass- 
bright arcades and salons, which were lit with 
chandeliers but never seemed to fill. Seedy- 
looking Americans sat in corners glued to 
their cell phones, also frantically whispering, 
also in crumpled suits, and a man in a гей 
turban stood by the outer doors, ready for 
trouble. They say the CIA is in fact fond of 
the place. Surprisingly, it hasn't been bombed 
yet, but terrorists are patient people. 
With the rise of Islamic militancy, bars 
are increasingly obvious targets across 
the Muslim world, and for years, with a 
grim fascination I have been following the 
mass murder of humble tipplers in suicide 
attacks from Bali to Islamabad itself. When 
the Marriott hotel in Pakistan's capital was 
destroyed by a suicide truck bomber on 
September 20, 2008, more than 50 people 
were killed and more than 260 seriously 
injured. No one doubted that the Mar- 
riott’s famous bar and its long-standing 
association with alcohol were among the 
reasons it was hit so viciously. 

I remember once having lunch with the 


Тіске is the кезі possibility 
that as you sit sipping your 
merlot you will be instaniiy 


Lebanese Druze warlord Walid Jumblatt 
at his castle in the Shuf mountains outside 
Beirut. Jumblatt makes wine and is a great 
wine lover, and during our conversation he 
pointed through the window in the direc- 
tion of Hezbollah’s nearest stronghold. 
“They are surrounding us in order to 
cut off the water to our vineyards. It’s the 
alcohol that they hate. They're going to 
make us dry. That's the radical fantasy.” 
It's a hatred that is gaining intensity. The 
Al Qaeda-linked Jemaah Islamiyah terror- 
ist group in Indonesia bombed the JW 
Marriott in Jakarta twice, first in 2003 and 
then on July 17, 2009, and like the Mar- 
riott in Islamabad, the JW in Jakarta was 
famous for its flashy socialite bar. Eight 
dead. In 2002 the same group 
two bombs inside Paddy's Pub and the Sari 
Club in Kuta, Bali, killing 202 people. In 


2005 it repeated the stunt at a food court 


letonated 


in Kuta and at some warungs (small out- 
door restaurants often serving beer) at a 
Westerner-frequented beach town called 
Jimbaran. Twenty-six people were killed, 
many by shrapnel and ball bearings packed 
into the explosives. The perpetrators, later 
executed, called it justice. 


There is therefore an undeniable thrill 
about getting liquored up in this part of 
the world. There is the very real possibility 
that as you sit discreetly sipping your Bul- 
garian merlot from a plastic bag you will 
be instantly decapitated by a nail bomb. 
You may even be shot in the head for the 
simple crime of ingesting a substance— 
alcohol—given its name by the Arabs. 
Your chances of dying in this way are not 
astronomically high. Nor are they astro- 
nomically low. 

The girls in saris brought us our haandi 
curries with exquisitely tense expressions, 
and I asked Mr. A if I could suggest— 
it was just an idea; Id heard it could be 
arranged—a glass of wine. 

His eyes opened wide. 

*Glass of wine, nah?" 

I also whispered. 

“They can do it sometimes, no?” 
“They can?” 

He beckoned a waitress and spoke with 
her in Urdu. 

“Wine?” she said to me in English. 

“Just a glass." 
The businessman began to squirm a lit- 
tle. The waitress leaned in to whisper, “We 
cannot. Not even in a plastic bag. How 
about a fresh strawberry juice?” 

“Watermelon too, nah,” the business- 


man suggested hopefully. “They call it 
natural Viagra.” 

“All right,” I sighed. “ГЇЇ take a fresh 
strawberry (continued on page 92) 


“Т can't understand why your tennis coach would want to break the nose of 
your swimming instructor." 


79 


IR DER 
A N D RE B ALAZ S < the premier hotelier of our time, 


has played impeccable host to the world’s most famous people 


abled CHATEAU MARMONT 


IN HOLLYWOOD, 


What makes his inns the place for bacchanalian A- LI STERS? 


For the first time, HE REVEALS HIS SECRETS 
Ает». 


"If you must get in trouble, do it at the Chateau Marmont.” 
Harry Cohn, "boss of bosses" of Columbia Pictures, c. 1939 


home. À good hotel allows you to escape your own environment. It allows you to 

letyour guard down. And the minute you let your guard down, you realize you're 
not at home, you're not in the same circumstances, and therefore behavior you might 
not indulge in at home suddenly becomes acceptable, even desirable. 

Very few people understand the art of hospitality. A good hotel should go out of 
its way to protect people's privacy and the sanctity of their personal lives. Certainly 
I have no opinion whatsoever about what's appropriate or inappropriate, as long as 
you're not disturbing someone else or violating their privacy. I mean, who cares what 
anybody does? I think it's fair to say more adultery goes on in hotels than any other 
place in the world. It's human nature, and it comes from that unique psychological 


Д Il good hotels tend to lead people to do things they wouldn't necessarily do at 


displacement that happens when you enter 
the safe, embracing, nonjudgmental world 
of a good hotel. 

All misbehavior can become clichéd, but 
there's nothing better than highly original, 
creative misbehavior. That's delightful. It’s 
not exactly a new thing to be a bad-boy 
rock-and-roller in a hotel. Rock-and-roll 
misbehavior is, by definition, a protest 
against society's mores—basically you're 
talking about fighting or trashing things. 
That's not psychologically interesting behav- 
ior. High-society misbehavior, however, 
takes mores for granted and then goes on 
to address something more interesting. 

There is a reason all our hotels are pop- 
ular with what you might call the creative 
community, people with good imagina- 
tions and a sense of style, whether they're 
writers, actors, directors or artists of any 
kind. They embrace the nonjudgmental. 
And that embrace of creativity and indi- 
viduality—which is part of our hotel’s 
mandate and part of our culture—allows 
people, encourages people, to do things 
they feel comfortable with. We don't pass 
judgment, ever. 

Let's say a guest is being too noisy and 
the room next door complains: It's not 
that there's an absolute resolution. The 


best solution is an adjudication in which 
both sides end up happy; it's not that one 
side is right and the other is wrong. Any- 
time guests have a conflict, the hotel will 
get involved, but there's no such thing as 
a conflict between a guest and the hotel 
per se. There are only conflicts between 
two guests. Who the hell is the hotel to 
make a judgment? 

The first rule of hospitality is discretion. 
Foremost, a good hotel needs to make you 
feel safe. For people to feel safe—to feel 
their privacy is being respected—they must 
trust that the hotel will never say anything 
to the media about a guest. We have an 
absolute rule that we fire people if they 
talk to the press. If anyone does, or reveals 
anything or hints about anything about 
any guest, they are fired. We've brought 
court cases against staffers who have vio- 
lated that dictum. 

Many hotels say the best surprise 
is no surprise. Other hotel chains say 
their lodgings are like a home away 
from home. Both those slogans are 
notions I would reject outright, because 
the best surprise...is a good surprise. 


AS TOLD TO SPENCER MORGAN 


Decadent Splendor 
Decade 


er вая к here 
> i Angeles, heres whe 
Paris to Los y á 
Hes if youre prone to misbehaving 
i vs cer Mor 


Hollywoo 


oosevelt 


HOLLYWOOD * This iconic outpost bears a 
history replete with royalty that few 
hotels can match. The first Oscar cer- 
emony was held in its ballroom in 1929. 
In 2005 hotelier Jason Pomeranc refur- 
bished the Roosevelt, and its Teddy's 
nightclub became a favorite among 
such after-hours connoisseurs as Paris 
Hilton and Courtney Love (who passed 
out not far from the David Hockney- 
painted pool). Pomeranc prides himself 
on protecting the privacy of his celeb- 
rity guests, but there was little chance 
of keeping a lid on Prince's overhaul of 
the penthouse he stayed in for a week. 
He plastered the rooms with gigantic 
portraits of himself. 


Delano 


SOUTH BEACH * lan Schrager opened the Del- 
ano in the 1990s, naming it after Franklin 
Delano Roosevelt. With its art deco facade, 
the hotel quickly became a beacon of 
conspicuous decadence, a supermodel 
hangout and a free-for-all for moneyed 
bohemians. The piéce de résistance is the 
Philippe Starck-designed "water salon" 
(i.e., pool) complete with cascading 
waterfall and underwater music. Naomi 
Campbell, queen of bad behavior, is still 
seen storming about the hotel's lobby "like 
it's her personal runway," as one frequent 
guest puts it. "In my time," says the lodger, 
“I've witnessed several naked pool parties 
that lasted until eight a.m.” 


The Standard New Yorl 


NEW YORK CITY * The Standard boasts one of 
Manhattan's most exclusive nightclubs: 
the penthouse bar formerly known as 
the Boom Boom Room (now called the 
Top of the Standard). In its first year in 


ыра ү. даба 


business (2009), the hotel gained notori- 
ety for its built-in peep show. The rooms’ 
glass windows overlook the High Line 
public walking park above the meatpack- 
ing district, enabling outsiders to see the 
oft-naked shenanigans within. After it 
opened, the Standard posted this missive 
on its website: "Now, we're asking you... 
our amateur pornographers, to send in 
your most erotic photos shot at the Stan- 
dard, New York... It's all about sex all the 
time, and you're our star." 


tel Byblos 


ST.-TROPEZ > Situated in a 16th century cas- 
tle, this hotel in the heart of St.-Tropez has 
maintained its reputation as a paragon of 
glamorous debauchery since its unveiling 
in 1967, a fete attended by Brigitte Bar- 
dot and Gunter Sachs. If you can foot the 
bill, Byblos is the undisputed go-to spot 
on the Mediterranean's foremost oasis of 
hedonism, with a legendary pool scene, 


an A-lister nightclub (Les Caves du Roy) 
and a blond beach where guests can see 
female celebrities, from Kate Moss to 
Penélope Cruz, in their bikinis. 


Hotel Amour 


PARIS* Nightclub entrepreneur André Saraiva 
(of Le Baron fame) and Thierry Costes (part 
of the prolific and enterprising Costes fam- 
ily) opened this 20-room hotel—formerly 
a pay-by-the-hour flophouse—about five 
years ago, and the demimonde followed. 
Not your ordinary boutique inn, it has 
affordable rooms, but they come sans 
phones, televisions and Wi-Fi. Kinky Terry 
Richardson photos grace the walls. The 
Amour has one of the most happening bar 
scenes in Paris. There's no pool on the prop- 
erty, but that doesn't keep some guests 
from mingling in the buff—an exercise 
embraced by Frenchmen including the likes 
of Olivier Zahm, the day-shades-wearing 
Purple Fashion magazine founder. 


83 


84 


atasha Alam's lips are plump and pouty 
enough to rival Angelina Jolie's, so is no 
wonder people enjoy watching her make out 
with other women. In 2008 the Uzbekistan-born 
actress and Iranian princess (by marriage) locked lips 
with Eva Mendes and played Jada Pinkett Smith's girl- 
friend in The Women. That same year she shared a 
kiss with her female co-star in the thriller In Twilight's 
Shadow. Now Natasha is 
heating up the small screen á 
on HBO's hit show True г Y fs | 
Blood as Yvetta, a naughty, 1 i 


vampire-loving Fangtasia 


"na 


(Alexander Skarsgärd). Like 


: . 
dancer who attracts undead x N 
heartthrob Eric Northman | | y 


most of the characters in the edgy series, Yvetta spends 
a substantial amount of time in the buff. 

“I'd never done nudity,” Natasha says. “I had to 
overcome a few things in my head to do it.” 

The first segment she filmed for True Blood was a 
nude sex scene. Nervous and unsure of the on-set 
protocol, Natasha was relieved when her co-star 
proved to be an unabashed and helpful guide. 

"Here comes Alexander 
Skarsgärd. He drops his 


Ч 
robe, апа he's not wearing 
а sock— nothing. He's just 
totally out there, walking 

mx 

* 


around as if nothing's going 
on," she says. “1 was like, if 


а be con do it, | can do it.” 


Natasha is a statuesque five-foot-10, and 
with her long hair, luminous eyes, afore- 
mentioned lips and impossibly sexy accent, 
she brings to mind a classic Bond girl. Born 
in Tashkent, she moved to Moscow at the 
age of 18 and embarked on a success- 
ful modeling career. At one fashion show, 
her agent told her one of the other models 
was head over heels for her, and several 
flutes of champagne later Natasha and her 
admirer were enjoying a lusty make-out ses- 
sion in a bathroom. 

“We dated for a month, and then | real- 
ized | wasn't leaning that way as much as 


she was. | guess to me it was an exploration 
into something new,” Natasha says. 

In 1998 she married Amir Ebrahim 
Pahlavi Alam, grandson of the former shah 
of Iran. Although they eventually divorced, 
Natasha retains her royal title. 

She has appeared on numerous TV 
shows, including CSI, NYPD Blue, The Unit, 
Nip/Tuck and The Bold and the Beautiful, 
and she memorably played a transvestite 
on Entourage—a role that required her to 
literally strap on a pair of balls. 

"| had to learn to walk differently. 
When you've got something between your 


legs, you have to adjust your walk.” 

Will we see her engaging in more girl- 
on-girl lip-lock action? Given True Blood's 
propensity for provocative antics, it’s not 
outside the realm of possibility. Natasha 
says she'd opt for the acerbic vampire Pam, 
played by Kristin Bauer, as a kissing partner 
because "she's got that kind of witty sexu- 
ality and nastiness about her." She pauses 
to consider other reasons why she would 
choose Bauer and adds, "She's really sexy, 
too, and she's got big beautiful lips." 

Sounds like these two beauties have a 
few things in common. 


„She's really sexy,” Natasha says about 
her True Blood colleague Kristin 
Bauer. She's got big beautiful lips.” 


PLAYBOY 


92 


Islamabad 


(continued from page 78) 
juice. On the rocks." 

The waitress whispered even lower. 

“Sir, there is a bar downstairs. You can 
go after dinner.” 

“Bar?” the businessman hissed. 

“Yes, sir. There is a bar. In the basement.” 

When she had gone, my friend frowned. 

“It may be true. But it may not be 
true. I cannot come with you either 
way. They will never allow a Muslim in. 
I would be arrested.” 

Iasked him what the punishment would 
be if he were caught sipping a Guinness 
with me in the Serena bar. 

"It depends, nah,” he said glumly. “It 
could be prison." 

Islamabad is the capital of a nation of 
175 million people and itselfa city of about 
a million. And yet, my companion assured 
me, the number of places where you could 
get a drink could be numbered on the fin- 
gers of one hand. By my reckoning there 
were three open bars in the entire city 
and only about 60 outlets for alcohol in 
the entire country. Aside from the secret 
basement bar of the Serena, there was a 
bar called Rumors in the Marriott hotel, 
which was bombed by Islamic militants in 
September 2008. And there was reput- 
edly a bar in the Best Western, though 
he had never been there. Outside the city 
there was a luxury hotel in the hill station 
of Murree called the Pearl Continental, 
where—again, according to rumor—there 
was a bar that enjoyed views of the snow- 
capped mountains of Kashmir. He had 
heard of a friend of his enjoying a gin and 
tonic there, once upon a time. 'There was also 
a bar, he added, in Islamabad's alter-ego 
twin city, Rawalpindi, in a hotel gloriously 
named the Flashman. But the minister of 
tourism had vindictively closed it down. 

"Тһе noose was tightening around the 
city's bar culture. There were bars of sorts 
inside some of the foreign embassies, but 
they were accessible only to the diplo- 
matic corps. There was a UN Club, with 
access similarly restricted, and there was 
an Italian restaurant called Luna Caprese, 
popular with Westerners, where, as dark 
gossip had it, the staff would bring you a 
glass of wine from a bottle hidden inside 
a plastic bag. They wouldn't show you the 
label, but they would pour you a glass and 
you would pay for it separately so it didn't 
show up on the restaurant's books. 

"Is it popular?" I asked. 

He looked infinitely sad. 

“Tt was—until it was bombed.” 

After dinner my friend made a rather 
desperate gesture with his hand and 
walked off, wishing me a “pleasant 
drink.” I doubled back through the echo- 
ing arcades to a grand staircase near the 
Dawat which plunged down into an alto- 
gether different part of the hotel. There 
was not a soul there. I went down, slipping 
on the polished marble, and as I came into 
the immense underground gallery a rather 
magnificent figure suddenly appeared, a 


bellboy of sorts done up in a beautiful 
white uniform with gloves and a turban. 

“Where,” I whispered, “is the bar?” 

“Bar, sir? Bar is here.” 

And he executed a flourish indicat- 
ing a pair of doors around the corner. I 
thanked him, and he bowed, moving with 
glacial elegance up the staircase. I looked 
around to make sure I was alone, a per- 
vert approaching his darkest desire, and 
moved quickly up to the unmarked doors. 
I pushed the doors and they merely rat- 
tled: The handles were tied together with 
a padlock. I shook them, but they didn’t 
yield. It was not even nine р.м., and I 
realized it was going to be a long night of 
strawberry juices. 


A few nights later I went to the Marriott 
because I had a hankering for a gin and 
tonic and it appeared to be the only bar 
in town that was dependably open at nine 
р.м. The hotel has now been completely 
rebuilt and is surrounded by soldiers and 
roadblocks—those sad concrete barriers 
you see all over Islamabad, covered with 
stickers for Zic motor oil and a thing called 
Tasty. Inside, the Marriott lobby, garnished 
with fish tanks, Punjabi art and box-shaped 
fountains, was nervously half alive, its opu- 
lent coffee shop filled with Saudis planted 
stiffly in front of slabs of nonalcoholic cake. 
I went through to the Jason steakhouse. 
No one was there. I ordered a steak and 
then asked—with my usual delicacy—if I 
could get a bottle of wine. 

“TIl ask,” the waiter said. 

He came back with a black plastic bag 
with the top of a wine bottle sticking out 
of it. It was the red. 

“And the white?” 

“Not recommended, sir.” 

I asked what this one was. He leaned 
down to whisper in my ear. 

“Greek shiraz, sir.” 

The Marriott chain is a symbol of Ameri- 
can imperialism across the Muslim world, 
but as I have suggested, Rumors had made 
this one so offensive to militants. This was 
the bar I repaired to after my steak and 
my glass of rancid Greek shiraz (the waiter 
wouldn’t show me the label). A bellboy led 
me there, down an immense lonely cor- 
ridor and a flight of stairs, turning left at 
a desolate landing with a lone chandelier 
and down yet another flight of steps. At the 
bottom, like an S&M club buried under the 
sidewalk, was the neon sign for Rumors. 
The entrance doors were shielded by secu- 
rity cameras designed to pick up errant 
Pakistanis. “This is bar,” the boy whispered 
firmly. This time the door opened. 

I went in, expecting a riotous speakeasy 
filled with drunken CIA men and off-duty 
marines, perhaps abetted—I was hoping— 
by a smattering of loose Pakistani Hindu 
women. But no such luck. There was, as 
always, no one there. I took in the fabric 
walls, the fringed seats, the two pool tables 
and the foosball, as well as the dartboard 
next to a plasma TV playing an episode of 
the British sitcom EastEnders. It was very 


British and homey-pub, and a barman 
in a waistcoat stood at his post cleaning 
beer glasses and watching me with great 
interest. There are moments when your 
thoughts turn to David Lynch. It turned 
out he was Muslim and had never tasted 
the nectar of Satan even once. He made a 
mean gin and tonic, however, and I asked 
him about the security cameras by the 
doors. He was happy to discuss them. 

“We are catching those blighters every 
week," he muttered, shaking his head. "Mus- 
lims coming in for a drink. We see them on 
the screen, sir, so they cannot succeed." 

Blighters? I thought. 

"And what happens to them?" 

“Ejecting, sir. We are ejecting. Some- 
times police are called." 

Alcohol has been banned for Muslims in 
Pakistan since 1977. A Muslim patron even 
trying to open the door ofa hotel bar—as 
the barman intimated—will be asked for his 
ID, refused entry and possibly prosecuted 
for the attempt. Non-Muslim foreigners 
can enter, and so can the “unbelievers”— 
five percent of the Pakistani population 
(Hindus, Parsis, Christians)—who are 
asked to present both ID and a permit 
book in which their monthly permitted 
alcohol quota is registered. They are usu- 
ally allowed six quarts of distilled liquor or 
20 bottles of beer a month. 

Iasked him about the bombing in 2008. 

“No one knows who did it. Osama bin 
Laden maybe. RDX bomb, sir." RDX 
packed with TNT and mortar. 

"Are you afraid to work here?" 

"No, sir." But his face said otherwise. 

It was said that 30 American marines 
about to drop into Afghanistan were stay- 
ing at the hotel the night of the bombing, 
as well as an unspecified number of senior 
CIA officers. (А Navy cryptologic techni- 
cian named Matthew O'Bryant working 
with the Navy Information Operations 
Command was killed.) I looked down 
at the pulsating stars on the dance floor 
and wondered when that floor was last 
crowded with revelers. The barman said 
that in fact the bar was often full. Monday, 
he said proudly, was their busiest night. 

"But," I said, "it's Monday night tonight." 

A twitch. "Yes, sir." 

At that moment the power went out. 
The barman lit a match and we stared at 
each other across the bar in total darkness. 
Monday night at Islamabad's hottest spot. 
He managed a fatalistic smile. 

Perhaps every bar is now a potential 
target. Nobody knows who masterminded 
that immense explosion heard miles 
away—Al Qaeda, an obscure group called 
Harkat-ul-Jihad-al-Islami, a group known 
as the Fedayeen Islam?—and no one ever 
will. 0.5. officials have stated they believe 
the bombing was masterminded by Usama 
al-Kini, Al Qaeda’s operations chief in Pak- 
istan, who was himself killed by a drone 
missile strike in January 2009. In a sense, 
it doesn’t matter. Modern 1960s Islam- 
abad, Pakistan’s Brasilia, sits on the fault 
line of a lethal culture war. There were 
many reasons to hit the Marriott, and 


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its association with booze was certainly one 
of them. Not only does the Marriott house a 
famous bar, it also offers a curious Pakistani 
institution known as a permit room. 

А permit room is an unmarked liquor 
store sometimes tucked away at the back of 
a top-end hotel. Suitable foreigners or Paki- 
stanis armed with a permit book can creep 
around to this secretive facility, buy bottles 
of vodka and Murree beer and take them 
back to their room. The one at the Mar- 
riott is next to a laundry around the corner 
from the main entrance. Surrounded as it is 
by sandbags and armed guards, you would 
never see it unless you were directed there 
explicitly. I've bought bottles of scotch there 
and then had to do a kind of walk of shame 
as I hauled my boozy loot back to the main 
road, the Pakistani soldiers glaring at me 
with barely concealed disdain. It's like buy- 
ing unwrapped pornography in a Walmart 
Supercenter in Salt Lake City. 

As I sipped my over-iced gin and tonic 
and watched EastEnders I thought back on all 
the bars I had frequented in Islamic cities: in 
Cairo, in Beirut, in Amman, in Marrakech. 
Drink flowed there. But in Riyadh, Kuwait 
City, Tripoli, Tehran and here it didn't. A 
divide ran through the Islamic world on the 
violent issue of drink. Alcohol, it is true, is 
mentioned three times in the Koran, and 
its use is frowned upon. But the hostility 
to wine in the holy book, if stern, does not 
seem especially ferocious. It is drunkenness, 
rather than alcohol per se, that seems to pro- 
voke the Prophet's ire. The first mention of 
wine in the Koran's traditional chronology, 
in the sura known as “The Cow,” is this: 
"They ask you about drinking and gam- 
bling. Say: "There is great harm in both, 
although they have some benefits for the 
people; but their harm is far greater than 
their benefit. (2:219) 

Pakistan was not always hostile to drink. 
When it became independent after parti- 
tion from India in 1947 it was still a country 
where alcohol was legal, as it had been under 
the British. Indeed the revered founding 


father of Pakistan, the British-educated 
lawyer Muhammad Ali Jinnah, known in 
Pakistan as Qaid-i-Azam, or "Great Leader," 
who died in 1948, is widely thought to have 
drunk alcohol until he renounced it at the 
end of his life, though no books published 
in Pakistan may mention the fact or even 
suggest it as a rumor (he was also reputed 
to eat pork). Alcohol was more or less freely 
sold and consumed from 1947 until 1977, 
when Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, 
anxious to appease the country's religious 
leaders, outlawed it not long before he was 
himself removed from power in a coup by 
General Mohammad Zia ul-Haq. 

Zia allowed alcohol to be sold to non- 
Muslims, but the ban for Muslims stuck. 
Тһе prescribed punishment for infringe- 
ment was flogging and often imprisonment. 
Pakistan had suddenly gone dry, and Zia's 
overall determination to Islamize Pakistan 
made that fact permanent. As Zia supported 
the mujahideen in Afghanistan during the 
Soviet occupation in the 1980s, a gradual 
conversion of the country from secular Brit- 
ish common law to sharia religious law was 
set in motion by the American-backed dic- 
tator, who apart from privatizing much of 
the economy also instituted Islamic hudood 
laws whereby a person convicted of theft can 
have his hands and feet amputated. Alcohol 
would never return—officially. 

In reality alcohol pours illegally into Paki- 
stan from all sides. It flows in from China 
and through the port of Karachi, ensuring 
bootleg vodka, gin and scotch can be found 
ubiquitously in private homes and at pri- 
vate parties. Bootleg wallahs operate in all 
the big cities, plying the well-off with con- 
traband liquor. Johnnie Walker is, as it is 
everywhere in Asia, as desirable a brand as 
Gucci, a symbol of an entire way of life, and 
consumed with the same relish we reserve 
for cocaine. The poor, meanwhile, gorge 
on moonshine. 

In September 2007 more than 40 people 
died in the slums of Karachi from drinking 
toxic homemade moonshine, an incident 


that scandalized the country. The producer 
of the lethal brew was a cop, as was one of 
the victims. The press wrung its hands, and 
legislators began to ask if the suppression of 
alcohol might not be connected to the rise 
of drug addiction in the young. A treasury 
member called Ali Akbar Wains made the 
argument publicly after the parliamentary 
secretary for narcotics had told the lower 
house of the parliament that there were 
now 4 million addicts in the country. Par- 
liamentary Affairs Minister Sher Afgan 
Niazi stated for the record, “It is a fact 
that restrictions on liquor have resulted in 
a surge in the use of deadly drugs in Pak- 
istan.” But the problem precisely is that 
alcohol is not just a drug. 

It is a symbol of the West, a tool of Satan 
that denatures the true believer; it is also 
associated with sexual laxity, the mingling 
of men and women and, one might say, with 
the bar itself—a free public place quite dis- 
tinct from the mosque or the bazaar, the 
two forms of public space that Muslim cit- 
ies otherwise accommodate. Islamic radicals 
are right to hate and fear it. In bars, people 
leave their inhibitions behind. 

A 2006 article in Der Spiegel put it bluntly: 
“The front line of the struggle against 
fundamentalism in Pakistan isn’t in the 
mountainous border regions. It’s in the 
country’s permit rooms. Alcohol is sold 
there—and customers dream of the West.” 


Nowhere in Pakistan is this more evident 
than in the one place where it is legal to 
have a nip of Satanic distillate: the Mur- 
ree Brewery in Rawalpindi. The brewery, 
among the first in Asia, was founded in 1860 
by the British to produce beer for the Brit- 
ish troops stationed in Rawalpindi. Murree 
was high in the hills, and in the age before 
refrigeration its location was ideal. With 
the coming of cooling technologies around 
1910 the British moved it down to Rawal- 
pindi, where it stands today. Rawalpindi, 
meanwhile, became the headquarters of 
the Pakistani army as well—and a sprawl- 
ing, dangerous city filled with radicals. On 
December 4, 2009 four suicide attackers 
stormed a mosque used by the Pakistani 
army and killed 36 civilians (including chil- 
dren) and several military officials. The 
Taliban claimed responsibility. To put it 
mildly, it’s a bad neighborhood to be mak- 
ing beer and flavored vodka. 

The Bhandara family, who are Parsis, 
took ownership of the brewery at the start 
of the 1960s when they bought majority 
shares in the company. The present owner is 
Isphanyar, whose celebrated father, Minoo, 
ran the brewery for decades; Minoo, who 
died in 2008, was the brother of the noted 
novelist Bapsi Sidhwa, a remarkable writer 
afflicted by polio who wrote The Crow Eat- 
ers, a beautiful book I read years ago. They 
are a cultured, literary family and because 
they are Parsis are allowed to run a plant 
that produces a bewildering variety of drink. 
Aside from all the vodkas and gins, they malt 
their own whiskey as well as turn out Paki- 
stan's most famous beer, Murree. The beer's 
slogan is known everywhere even though 
only five percent of the population can drink 
it: “Drink and make Murree!” 


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Isphanyar is one of those youngish Paki- 
stani go-getters who never seem to be able to 
sit still for a moment, as if everything needs 
to be done instantly in case—for some mys- 
terious reason—it’s too late. I met him in his 
office at the brewery, where he sat restlessly 
behind a huge desk, blinking, pressing buzz- 
ers and bells and casting a watchful eye on 
the video security monitors. He wore a ring 
on each hand, a pink striped shirt, a Rolex. 
Тһе walls were hung with regimental Brit- 
ish Raj calendars that featured vignettes of 
mounted hussars, and the desk itself was 
dotted with garish little coasters showing 
Pheasants of Pakistan. A small desk sign. 
read DON’T Qurr. 

In wall cases stood rows of Murree prod- 
ucts: Kinoo Orange Vodka, citrus and 
strawberry gin, Vat No. 1 whiskey, clear rum 
and beers. There were also the fruit juices 
and fruit malts that Murree sells to Mus- 
lims, foremost among them a thing called 
Bigg Apple. When Isphanyar spoke rap- 
idly on the phone his Urdu was mixed with 
urgently crisp English words: maximize, incen- 
tivize, target and then Look after him! From 
time to time he paused to sweep a deodor- 
ant stick into his armpits and laughed a little 
nervously. He was handsome, quick and on 
edge. I asked him if running a brewery in 
the world epicenter of Islamic extremism 
bothered him. Or worse. 

“Bothered?” he asked. 

“Well, is it perilous for you?” 

“АПТ can say is we try to keep a low profile. 
I don't want my children to be kidnapped.” 

He pressed another buzzer. There was a 
whiff of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, of 
delirious energy. "Strawberry juice?" he whis- 
pered into the intercom. "To Peshawar?" 

He twiddled a pen and looked momen- 
tarily distracted as underlings came in and 
out. I then observed how strange it was that 
a brewery in Pakistan could not sell any- 
thing to the vast bulk of the population, 
nor could it export. But this seemed self- 
evident to him. 

“We cannot very well put MADE IN THE 
ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF PAKISTAN on our bottles 
of vodka, can we? But between you and me, 
the non-Muslims in this country are not the 
big drinkers. It's one of the ironies of Paki- 
stan.” He smiled cattily and we were served 
a shot of Murree whiskey. To my surprise, 
it was excellent. 

“What do you think?” he asked eagerly. 

“It’s very fine. Twenty-one years?” 

“Our best. I will say, by the way, that it is 
widely enjoyed inside the country.” 

I had noticed that the brewery lies at 
the end of an unmarked track along an 
unmarked road, as invisible as such a large 
facility can be. It was protected by high walls 
and the usual armed guards. Ex-president 
Pervez Musharraf's house was nearby. It was 
like a town within a town, its dark red Brit- 
ish brick, mostly from the 1940s, lending it 
a somber elegance of line. The air was thick 
with the sweetish smells of the whiskey malt- 
ing plant. As he led me outside, Isphanyar 
reflected on the volatility of the society to 
which he is, in effect, the leading supplier 
of a religiously outlawed intoxicant. 

"The Muslim attitude is getting harder. 
Liquor, you see, is associated with a West- 
ern lifestyle, so it has become a flash point 


of some kind. Muslim hostility to the West- 
ern way of life finds its focus in alcohol. 
Hatred is directed at alcohol because it's a 
symbol of corruption. But at the same time 
the extremists tolerate beheading, drugs, 
heroin and kidnapping, and they grow pop- 
pies. It's bewildering." 

I was then taken around the malting 
and bottling plant. It's a self-contained 
production line: Baudin malt from West- 
ern Australia, Chinese bottling machines, 
Spanish labeling machines, cellars of Latin 
American oak casks that would not be out 
of place in Islay or Jerez. It was curious to 
watch the Muslim workers operating the 
labeling machine as rows of Nips bottles 
of Vat No. 1 came pouring out. What was 
going through their minds? The foreman 
showing me around reminded me—as we 
strolled past whitewashed whiskey casks, 
some of them dated 1987—that everything 
produced here had to be consumed inside 
the country. It was, to say the least, an enor- 
mous paradox. Five percent of 175 million 
is a fair number of drinkers, but it certainly 
could not account for all these casks. 

A little later in the day I went to a tast- 
ing of new vodkas Murree is developing. 
Тһе development meeting was attended by 


I felt like a heroin trafficker, 
though technically I was 
doing nothing illegal. I 

drank alone in my room that 

night, listening to muezzins 
competing in the dark. 


six staff members headed Ьу Muhammad 
Javed, Murree's general manager, and each 
man gave each vodka a score on a piece of 
paper. I joined in. Some ofthem were highly 
refined, with a soft "fruit" and a sense of 
serious purpose. Serious vodka, then, for a 
nation of serious drinkers? Javed explained 
that they were trying to develop vodkas even 
though their most popular drink was whis- 
key. Vat No. 1 accounted for 40 percent of 
total sales because it was relatively cheap. A 
bottle of 21-year-old whiskey, on the other 
hand, cost about 2,500 rupees in a coun- 
try where the daily minimum wage was 230 
rupees. Yet they couldn't make enough of it. 
Incredible, he pointed out, especially if you 
considered that the government levied enor- 
mous taxes on it and they couldn't sell to the 
public except through permit rooms. 

"Of course," he added, nodding mis- 
chievously to the others, “we all know that 
non-Muslims buy it for Muslims. It's a 
thriving trade." 

My mouth rinsed with vodka, and quite 
tipsy, I staggered across the courtyard to 
visit retired major Sabih-Ur-Rehman, who 
is, as his card explained, “special assistant 
to chief executive.” 

Rehman once participated in a study by 
the Customs department, which determined 


about $10 million of drink was being con- 
fiscated every year, suggesting the presence 
of an enormous alcoholic black market. For 
every bottle confiscated, he told me, there 
were probably three in circulation. The study 
had put the value of the alcoholic black mar- 
ket in Pakistan at about $30 million. This, he 
added, was driven by non-Muslims selling to 
Muslims. A bottle of Johnnie Walker Black 
Label cost about 1,200 rupees in an airport 
duty-free shop, but its black market value 
was closer to 5,000 rupees. 

“Moreover,” he went on, “the biggest 
bars in the world are the bars of Islamabad 
households, I can assure you. The boot- 
leggers who deliver to your house are almost 
never prosecuted. The police protect them. 
Very powerful people run this.” 

He recalled that when he was in the army 
they had bars called wet clubs, though he 
was not sure they still existed. Either way, 
he was sure Pakistan was awash in booze, 
even if no one could admit it. 

"I think people are drinking more, even 
if some figures show official consumption 
going down. We don't have alcoholism here 
per se. What we have is something else: 
It's that alcohol has glamour. It's desirable 
because it's forbidden fruit. That's the logic 
of human nature. By the way, did you try 
our pineapple vodka?" 

What a shame, he implied, that the com- 
pany couldn't export it to the West. 

"And before you leave ГЇЇ give you a bot- 
tle of our whiskey and some other things. 
Take it to a non-Muslim party if you are ever 
invited." He smiled and jiggled his head. 

Later, as I was driving back to F-6 in 
Islamabad, I took out the beer, a bottle of 
strawberry gin and the Gymkhana blended 
malt whiskey they had given me and looked 
at the pretty labels. I felt like a heroin traf- 
ficker, though technically I was doing nothing 
illegal. I drank them alone in my room that 
night, sitting on a terrace filled with crows 
and listening to muezzins competing in the 
dark. It was, in a sense, like drinking alone 
at a bar when you have no one to talk to. I 
tried the strawberry gin, assuming it would 
be too strange to stomach, and found instead 
that it was childishly comforting, well-made 
as if by people who knew its charms inside 
out. I would never have drunk it anywhere 
else. But it was a supremely delicious drink 
at that moment, and as I lay on my Spartan 
bed listening to the name of God ringing 
through empty streets I felt a subtle intoxica- 
tion reaching the ends of my fingers and the 
tip of my nose. A Pakistani fruit gin. What 
could be more seditious? 


A week later my hennaed friend got me an 
invite to a private party not far from where 
I was staying in F-6. I decided to bring my 
bottle of Gymkhana as a present, carefully 
disguised in a paper bag. The home of the 
affluent hosts—anxious as always about their 
anonymity—was one of the low, flat-roofed 
white villas surrounded by dry gardens and 
high walls that seem to make up most of 
Islamabad’s housing stock. Inside, behind 
the discreet high doors and shutters, the 
house was filled with a mixture of Islamic 
art and reproduction Louis XV chairs, 
with cut-glass ashtrays and leather poufs 


95 


PLAYBOY 


96 


and Kashmiri rugs. It was an older crowd 
dressed in Shetland sweaters and tailored 
shirts, businessmen and import-export men 
and their impeccable wives, and at one end 
of the long front room stood a little bar with 
a server in a bow tie. He was pouring tum- 
blers of Black Label and imported cognac, 
and the men were sipping from them as they 
sat in the Versailles chairs, assured that they 
were behind closed doors and that everyone 
knew everyone. 

My friend made me relate to the com- 
pany a trip I had made the day before to 
Murree, the original site of the brewery 
now in Rawalpindi. I had driven two hours 
out of Islamabad to the old British hill sta- 
tion and visited the 150-year-old brewery 
ruins, Victorian picturesque, the abandoned 
British church now surrounded by barbed 
wire, and finally the Pearl Continental hotel, 
where I had had an eerie lunch overlooking 
the snowcaps of Kashmir. 

“Is there still a bar there?” they asked. 

Well, I said, that depends on what you 
call a bar. After lunch I had asked the staff 
where the bar was—it was by now a famil- 
iar exercise—and they had told me it was 
outside and on the ground floor, next to 
the swimming pool. Off I went. After a half- 
hour search I eventually found an obscure 
unmarked door with a glass window that 
looked like the entrance to a storage room. I 
knocked. A panicked face quickly appeared 
on the far side of the glass. We gestured to 
each other, I upending a glass to my lips, 
he wagging his finger in a frantic negative. 
End result: no drink. 


“Ah,” they said, jiggling their heads, 
"we're glad there's still a bar at the Pearl 
Continental!" 

They said it as if civilization had not 
yet fallen to the Huns, and I had no idea 
what they meant. I opened my bottle of 
Gymkhana, observing that it was good to 
drink something local instead of the ubiq- 
uitous Black Label, and this was greeted 
with a chorus of approval. We poured it 
out. It was not Murree's top whiskey, but I 
thought it was a pretty good drink all the 
same. I noticed that everyone licked their 
lips contemplatively and stared down into 
their glasses for a moment. Was it a drink 
they knew so well that each bottle had to 
be savored for minute differences from 
the last one? Someone put the music of 
Rabbi Shergill (a Punjabi techno-pop star) 
in the CD player, and soon half the room 
was dancing, some of the men still holding 
their tumblers of Gymkhana aloft and twirl- 
ing their women around. I recognized the 
song, "Bulla Ki Jaana," at once because it 
was a number one hit in India, a beautiful 
techno rendering of a mystic Sufic poem 
by Bulleh Shah, the 18th century Punjabi 
poet buried in Pakistan. Bulleh writes that 
he is “not the believer in the mosque,” that 
he is neither Hindu nor Muslim nor Parsi 
and that indeed he does not know who he is 
or what he is. Shergill's lyrical video of the 
song comes across as a plea for peace and 
tolerance in the Sufic spirit, all strung along 
on the rhythms of global dance music. 

“It reminds us,” one of the women said, 
“that Pakistan was once a Hindu, a Buddhist, 


a Sufi culture, and that all of those things are 
still in us somewhere.” 

Did the Sufis drink? Did wine once flow 
through these parched hills when Bulleh 
Shah was alive? It was unclear. In the present 
moment the alcohol seemed to have gently 
spread through the whole gathering, bring- 
ing everyone to Ше. A man waddled up to me 
and collapsed on the same sofa. He was clearly 
mildly intoxicated and he was enjoying it. He 
could say things he could later disown. 

“This country is fucked,” he said simply 
in English, looking me dead in the eye and 
smiling. "We're going to be run by a bunch 
of clerics one day. We're going down the 
drain, down the drain." 

Ilooked down and saw that the bottles 
on the coffee table were all empty. The 
barman was mixing cocktails—margaritas, 
as far as I could tell, with salted rims— 
and it was already long past midnight. 
The Koran had been forgotten, or shall we 
say revisited, and I picked out the strange 
words from the music, words written by a 
Muslim who had disavowed the religious 
orthodoxy of his day. They cut through 
the pessimism of the man who had fallen 
asleep beside me and livened the hips of 
the people dancing to Shergill: 


Not in the holy Vedas, am I 

Nor in opium, neither in wine, 

Not in the drunkard’s craze 

Neither awake, nor in a sleeping daze 
Bulleh! To me, I am not known. 


“I found it! Everyone can stop looking!” 


Joanna 
(continued from page 48) 


or to hear the voice I remembered from the 
old days. That night I had dinner with Rob- 
bie and Ronnie and Sharon Grove, who had 
crossed over to horror and even claimed 
that she was going to be in the next John. 
Carpenter or Clive Barker film, which 
annoyed Ronnie, hearing those two lumped 
together, because, for him, only a handful 
of directors came anywhere near Carpenter, 
and Danny Lo Bello was there at the dinner 
too—I had a thing with him when we were 
working together in Milan—and Patricia 
Page, his 18-year-old wife, who worked only 
in Danny's movies, with a contract stipulat- 
ing that only her husband was allowed to 
penetrate her, with the other guys she just 
sucked their cocks, and even that she did 
reluctantly; the directors weren't too happy 
with her, and according to Robbie sooner or 
later she'd either have to change careers or 
her and Danny would have to come up with 
some really sensational numbers. So there 
I was, having dinner in one of the best res- 
taurants in Venice Beach, looking out at the 
sea, exhausted after a hard day's work, not 
paying much attention to the lively conver- 
sation at our table—I was miles away, 
thinking of Jack Holmes, remembering the 
way he looked: a very tall, thin guy with a 
long nose and long, hairy arms like the arms 
of an ape, but what kind of ape would Jack 
have been? An ape in captivity, no doubt 
about that, a melancholy ape or maybe the 
ape of melancholy, which might seem like 
the same thing but it’s not, and when din- 
ner was over, it wasn't too late for me to call 
Jack at home— people have dinner early in 
California, sometimes they finish before it 
gets dark—I couldn't wait any longer, I don't 
know what came over me, I asked Robbie 
for his cell phone and took myself off to a 
sort of jetty, all made of wood, a kind of min- 
iature wooden pier exclusively for tourists, 
with waves breaking under it, long, low, 
almost foamless waves that took an eternity 
to dissipate, and I phoned Jack Holmes. I 
honestly didn't expect him to answer. At first 
I didn't recognize his voice, it was like Rob- 
bie said, and he didn't recognize mine either. 
It's me, I said, Joanna Silvestri, I'm in Los 
Angeles. Jack was quiet for a long time and 
all of a sudden I realized I was shaking, the 
telephone was shaking, the wooden jetty was 
shaking, the wind had turned cold, the wind 
that was blowing between the jetty's pilings 
and ruffling the surface of those intermin- 
able, darkening waves, and then Jack said, 
It's been such a long time, Joanna, great to 
hear your voice, and I said, It's great to hear 
yours, Jack, and then I stopped shaking and 
stopped looking down and looked at the 
horizon, the lights of the restaurants along 
the beach—red, blue, yellow—which seemed 
sad at first but comforting too, and then Jack 
said, When can I see you, Joannie, and I 
didn't realize straightaway that he had called 
me Joannie, for a couple of seconds I was 
floating on air like I was high or weaving a 
chrysalis around myself, but then I realized 
and laughed and Jack knew why I was 
laughing without needing to ask or needing 
me to tell him anything. Whenever you like, 


Jack, I replied. Well, he said, I don't know 
if you've heard that I'm not as well as I used 
to be. Are you on your own, Jack? Yes, he 
said, I'm always on my own. Then I hung 
up and asked Robbie and Ronnie how to get 
to Jack’s place, and they said I was bound 
to get lost and shouldn’t even think of 
spending the night because we were shoot- 
ing early the next day, and I probably 
wouldn’t be able to get a taxi to take me 
there, Jack lived near Monrovia, in a shabby 
old bungalow that was practically falling 
down, and I told them I wanted to go see 
Jack however hard it might be, and Robbie 
said, Take my Porsche, you can have it as 
long as you turn up on time tomorrow, and 
І kissed Ronnie and Robbie and got into the 
Porsche and started driving through the 
streets of Los Angeles, which had just begun 
to succumb to the night, the cloak of night 
falling, like in a song by Nicola Di Bari, or 
the wheels of the night rolling on, and I 
didn’t want to put on any music, though I 
have to admit I was tempted by Robbie’s 
sound system—CD or laser disc or ultra- 
sound or something—but I didn’t need 
music, it was enough to step on the accelera- 
tor and feel the hum of the engine; I must 
have gotten lost at least a dozen times, and 
the hours went by and every time I asked 
someone the best way to get to Monrovia I 
felt freer, like I didn’t care if I spent the 
whole night driving around in the Porsche, 
and twice I even caught myself singing, and 
finally I got to Pasadena, and from there I 
took Highway 210 to Monrovia, where I 
spent another hour looking for Jack's place, 
and when I found his bungalow, after mid- 
night, I sat in the car for a while, unable and 
unwilling to get out, looking at myself in the 
mirror, with my hair in a mess and my face 
as well, my eyeliner had run and my lipstick 
was smudged and there was dust from the 
road on my cheeks, as if ГА run all the way 
there and not come in Robbie Pantoliano's 
Porsche, or as if I'd been crying, but in fact 
my eyes were dry (a little bit red, maybe, but 
dry), and my hands were steady and I felt 
like laughing, as if my food at the beachside 
restaurant had been spiked with some kind 
of drug, and I'd only just realized and 
accepted that I was high or extremely happy. 
And then I got out of the car, put on the 
alarm—it didn't feel like a very safe neigh- 
borhood—and headed for the bungalow, 
which matched Robbie's description: a little 
house crying out for a coat of paint, with a 
rickety porch; a pile of boards that was prac- 
tically falling down, but next to it there was 
a swimming pool, and although it was very 
small, the water was clean, I could see that 
straightaway because the pool light was on; 
I remember thinking that Jack had given 
up waiting for me or had fallen asleep, 
because there were no lights on in the house; 
the boards on the porch creaked under my 
feet; there was no bell, so I knocked twice 
on the door, first with my knuckles and then 
with the palm of my hand, and a light came 
on, I could hear someone saying something 
inside, and then the door opened and Jack 
appeared on the threshold, taller than ever, 
thinner than ever, and said, Joannie? as if 
he didn't recognize me or still hadn't com- 
pletely woken up, and I said, Yes, Jack, it's 
me, it was hard to find you but I found you 


in the end, and we hugged. That night we 
talked until three in the morning and Jack 
fell asleep at least twice during the conver- 
sation. Although he looked drained and 
weak, he was making an effort to keep his 
eyes open. But in the end he was just too 
tired and he said he was going to bed. I 
don't have a spare room, Joannie, he said, 
so you choose: my bed or the sofa. Your bed, 
Isaid, with you. Good, he said, let's go. Не 
took a bottle of tequila and we went to his 
bedroom. I hadn't seen such a messy room 
in years. Do you have an alarm clock? I 
asked him. No, Joannie, there are no clocks 
in this house, he said. Then he switched off 
the light, took off his clothes and got into. 
bed. I stood there watching him, not mov- 
ing. Then I went to the window and opened 
the curtains, hoping that the light of dawn 
would wake me up. When I got into bed, 
Jack seemed to be asleep, but he wasn't, he 
drank another shot of tequila and then he 
said something I couldn't understand. I put 
my hand on his stomach and stroked it until 
he fell asleep. Then I moved my hand down 
a bit and touched his cock, which was big 
and cold like a python. A few hours later I 
woke up, took a shower, made breakfast, and 
Ieven had time to tidy up the living room. 
and the kitchen a bit. We had breakfast in 
bed. Jack seemed happy that I was there, 
but all he had was coffee. I said I'd come 
back that evening, I told him to expect me, 
I wouldn't be late this time, and he said, I've 
got nothing to do, Joannie, you can come 
whenever you like. It was almost like saying, 
It's okay if you never come back, I knew 
that, but I decided that Jack needed me and 
that I needed him too. Who are you work- 
ing with? he asked. Shane Bogart, I said. 
He's a good kid, said Jack. We worked 
together once, I think it was when he was 
just starting out in the business; he's enthu- 
siastic, and he doesn't like to make trouble. 
Yeah, he's a good kid, I said. And where are 
you working? In Venice? Yeah, I said, in the 
same old house. But you know old Adolfo 
got killed? Of course I know, Jack, that was 
years ago. I haven't been working much 
lately, he said. Then I gave him a kiss, a 
schoolgirl's kiss on his narrow, chapped lips, 
and I left. The trip back was much quicker; 
the sun was running with me, the California 
morning sun, which has a metallic edge to 
it. And from then on, after each day of 
shooting, I'd go to Jack's house or we went 
out together; Jack had an old station wagon 
and I rented a two-seater Alfa Romeo, and 
we'd drive off into the mountains, to Red- 
lands, and then on Highway 10 to Palm 
Springs, Palm Desert, Indio, until we got to 
the Salton Sea, which is a lake, not a sea (and 
not a very pretty one either), where we ate 
macrobiotic food, that's what Jack was eat- 
ing then, for his health, he said, and one day 
we stepped on the gas in my Alfa and drove 
to Calipatria, to the southeast of the Salton 
Sea, and went to see a friend of Jack's who 
lived in a bungalow that was even more run- 
down than the one Jack lived in, Graham 
Monroe was the guy's name, but his wife 
and Jack called him Mezcalito, I don't know 
why, maybe because he was partial to mes- 
cal, though all they drank while we were 
there was beer (I didn't have any—beer is 
fattening), and the three of them went and 


97 


PLAYBOY 


98 


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sunbathed behind the bungalow and hosed 
each other down, and I put on my bikini 
and watched them, I prefer not to get too 
much sun, my skin's very fair and I like to 
take care of it, but even though I stayed in 
the shade and didn't let them wet me with 
the hose, I was glad to be there, watching 
Jack, his legs were much thinner than I 
remembered, and his chest seemed to have 
sunken in, only his cock was the same, and 
his eyes too, but no, the only thing that 
hadn't changed was the great jackhammer, 
as the ads for his movies used to say, the ram 
that battered Marilyn Chambers's ass; the 
rest of him, including his eyes, was fading 
as fast as my Alfa Romeo flying down the 
Aguanga Valley or across the Desert State 
Park lit by the glow of a moribund Sunday. 
Ithink we made love a couple of times. Jack 
had lost interest. He said after so many mov- 
ies he was worn out. No one's ever told me 
that before, I said. I like watching TV, Joan- 
nie, and reading mysteries. You mean horror 
stories? No, just mysteries, he said, with 
detectives, especially the ones where the 
hero dies at the end. But that never hap- 
pens, I said. Of course it does, little sister, in 
old pulp novels you can buy by the pound. 
Actually, I didn't see any books in his house, 
except for a medical reference book and 
three of those pulp novels he'd mentioned, 
which he must have read over and over 
again. One night, maybe the second night 
I spent at his house, or the third—Jack was 
as slow as a snail when it came to opening 
up and telling secrets—while we were drink- 
ing wine by the pool, he said he probably 
didn't have long to live: You know how it is, 
Joannie, when your time's up, your time's 
up. I wanted to shout, Make love to me, let's 
get married, let's have a kid or adopt an 
orphan or buy a pet and a trailer and go 
traveling through California and Mexico— 
I guess I was tired and a bit drunk, it must 
have been a hard day on the set—but I 
didn't say anything, I just shifted uneasily 
in my deck chair, looked at the lawn that I'd 
mowed myself, drank some more wine and 
waited for Jack to go on and say the words 
that had to come next, but that was all he 
said. We made love that night for the first 
time in so long. It was very hard to get Jack 
going, his body wasn't working anymore, 
only his will was still working, but he insisted 
on wearing a condom, a condom for that 
cock of his, as if any condom could hold it, 
at least it gave us a bit of a laugh, and in the 
end, we both lay on our sides, and he put 
his long, thick, flaccid cock between my legs, 
kissed me sweetly and fell asleep, but I 
stayed awake for ages, with the strangest 
ideas passing through my mind; there were 
moments when I felt sad and cried without 
making a sound so as not to wake him up 
or break our embrace, and there were 
moments when I felt happy, and I cried then 
too and hiccuped, not even trying to restrain 
myself, squeezing Jack's cock between my 
thighs and listening to his breathing, saying: 
Jack, I know you're pretending to be asleep, 
Jack, open your eyes and kiss me, but Jack 
went on sleeping or pretending to sleep, and 
I went on watching the thoughts race 
through my mind as if across a movie screen, 
flashing past, like a plow or a red tractor 
going a hundred miles an hour, leaving me 


almost no time to think, not that thinking 
was high on my list of priorities, and then 
there were moments when I wasn't crying 
or feeling sad or happy, I just felt alive and 
I knew that Jack was alive and although 
there was a kind of theatrical backdrop to 
everything, as if it were all some pleasant, 
innocent, even decorous farce, I knew it was 
real and worthwhile, and then I put my 
head in the crook of his neck and fell asleep. 
One day around midday Jack turned up 
while we were shooting. I was on all fours, 
sucking Bull Edwards while Shane Bogart 
sodomized me. At first I didn't realize that 
Jack had come onto the set, I was concen- 
trating; it’s not easy to groan with an 
eight-inch dick moving back and forth in 
your mouth; I know really photogenic girls 
who lose it as soon as they start a blow job, 
they look terrible, maybe because they're 
too into it, but I like to keep my face look- 
ing good. So my mind was on the job and, 
anyway, because of the position I was in, I 
couldn't see what was happening around 
me, while Bull and Shane, who were on 
their knees but upright, heads raised, they 
saw that Jack had just come in, and their 
cocks got harder almost straightaway, and 
it wasn't just Bull and Shane who reacted, 
the director, Randy Cash, and Danny Lo 
Bello and his wife and Robbie and Ronnie 
and the technicians and everyone, I think, 
except for the cameraman, Jacinto Ventura, 
who was a bright, cheerful kid and a true 
professional, he literally couldn't take his 
eyes off the scene he was filming, everyone 
except for him reacted in some way to Jack's 
unexpected presence, and a silence fell over 
the set, not a heavy silence, not the kind that 
foreshadows bad news, but a luminous 
silence, so to speak, the silence of water fall- 
ing in slow motion, and I sensed the silence 
and thought it must have been because I 
was feeling so good, because of those beau- 
tiful California days, but I also sensed 
something else, something indecipherable 
approaching, announced by the rhythmic 
bumping of Shane's hips on my butt, by 
Bull’s gentle thrusting in my mouth, and 
then I knew that something was happening 
on the set, though I didn't look up, and I 
knew that what was happening involved and 
revolved around me; it was as if reality had 
been torn, ripped open from one end to the 
other, like in those operations that leave a 
scar from neck to groin, a broad, rough, 
hard scar, but I hung on and kept concen- 
trating till Shane took his cock out of my ass 
and came on my butt and just after that Bull 
ejaculated on my face. Then they turned me 
over and I could see the expressions on their 
faces, they were very focused on what they 
were doing, much more than usual, and as 
they caressed me and said tender words, I 
thought, There's something going on here, 
there must be someone from the industry 
on the set, some big fish from Hollywood, 
and Shane and Bull have realized, they're 
acting for him, and I remember glancing 
sideways at the silhouettes surrounding us 
in the shadows, all still, all turned to stone— 
that was exactly what I thought, they've 
turned to stone, it must be a really impor- 
tant producer—but I kept quiet, I wasn't 
ambitious the way Shane and Bull were, 
Ithink it has something to do with being 


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European, we have a different outlook, but 
I also thought, Maybe it isn't a producer, 
maybe an angel has come onto the set, and 
that was when I saw him. Jack was next to 
Ronnie, smiling at me. And then I saw the 
others: Robbie, the technicians, Danny Lo 
Bello and his wife, Jennifer Pullman, Margo 
Killer, Samantha Edge, two guys in dark 
suits, Jacinto Ventura, who wasn't looking 
into the viewfinder, and it was only then that 
I realized he wasn't filming anymore, and 
for a second or a minute we all froze, as if 
we'd lost the capacity to speak and move, 
and the only one smiling (though he was 
quiet too) was Jack, whose presence seemed 
to sanctify the set, or that's what I thought 
later, much later on, remembering that 
scene again and again: He seemed to be 
sanctifying our movie and our work and our 
lives. Then the minute came to an end, 
another minute began, someone said it was 
a wrap, someone brought bathrobes for Bull 
and Shane and me, Jack came over and gave 
me a kiss, I wasn't in the other scenes they 
were shooting that day, so I said let's go and 
have dinner in an Italian restaurant, I'd 
heard about one on Figueroa Street, and 
Robbie invited us to a party that one of his 
new business partners was throwing; Jack 
seemed reluctant but I convinced him in the 
end. So we went back to my place in the Alfa 
Romeo and talked and drank whiskey for a 
while, and then we went out to dinner and 
at about 11 we turned up at the party. Every- 
one was there and they all knew Jack or 
came over to be introduced to him. And 
then Jack and I went to his place and 
watched TV in the living room—there was 
a silent movie on—and kissed until we fell 
asleep. He didn't come back to the set. I had 
another week's work there, but I'd already 
decided to stay in Los Angeles for a while 
after the end of the shoot. Of course I had 
commitments in Italy and France, but I 
thought I could put them off, or I thought 
Га be able to convince Jack to come with 
me; he'd been to Italy a number of times, 
he'd made some movies with La Cicciolina, 
which had been big hits—some with just me 
and some with both of us; Jack liked Italy, 
so one night I told him what I was thinking. 
But I had to give up on that idea or hope, 
I had to wrench it out of my head and heart, 
or out of my cunt, as the women say back in 
"Torre del Greco, and although I never com- 
pletely gave up, somehow I understood 
Jack's reluctance or his stubbornness, the 
luminous, fresh, honey-slow silence sur- 
rounding him and his few words, as if his 
tall thin figure were vanishing, and all of 
California along with it; in spite of my hap- 
piness, my joy, or what until shortly before 
I had thought of as happiness and joy, he 
was going, and I understood that his depar- 
ture or farewell was a kind of solidification: 
strange, oblique, almost secret, but still a 
solidification, and the understanding, the 
certainty (if that's what it was) made me 
happy and yet at the same time it made me 
cry, it made me keep fixing my eye makeup 
and made me see everything differently, as 
if I had X-ray vision, and that power or 
superpower made me nervous, but I liked 
it too; it was like being Marvilla, the daugh- 
ter of the Queen of the Amazons, although 
Marvilla had dark hair and mine is blonde, 


and one afternoon, in Jack's yard, I saw 
something on the horizon, I don't know 
what, clouds, a bird of some kind, a plane, 
and I felt a pain so strong I fainted and lost 
control of my bladder and when I woke up 
I was in Jack's arms and I looked into his 
gray eyes and began to cry and didn't stop 
crying for a long time. Robbie and Ronnie 
came to the airport to see me off along with 
Danny Lo Bello and his wife, who were plan- 
ning to visit Italy in a few months' time. I 
said good-bye to Jack at his bungalow in 
Monrovia. Don't get up, I said, but he got 
up and came to the door with me. Be a good 
girl, Joannie, he said, and write me some 
time. I'll call you, I said, it's not the end of 
the world. He was nervous and forgot to put 
on his shirt. I didn't say anything; I picked 
up my bag and put it on the passenger seat 
of the Alfa Romeo. I don't know why I 
thought that when I turned back to look at 
him for the last time he'd be gone and the 
space he'd occupied next to the rickety little 
wooden gate would be empty, so fear made 
me delay that moment, it was the first time 
Га felt afraid in Los Angeles (on that visit 
at least; there'd been plenty of fear and 
boredom the other times) and I was annoyed 
to be feeling afraid, and I didn't want to turn 
around until I had opened the door of the 
Alfa Romeo and was ready to get in and 
drive away fast, and when I did finally open 
the door, I turned and Jack was there, stand- 
ing by the gate, watching me, and then I 
knew that everything was all right, and I 
could go. That everything was all wrong, 
and I could go. That everything was sorrow, 
and I could go. And while the detective 
watches me out of the corner of his eye (he's 
pretending to look at the foot of the bed, 
but I know he's looking at my legs, my long 
legs underneath the sheets) and talks about 
а сатегатап who worked with Mancuso or 
Marcantonio, a certain R.P. English, poor 
Marcantonio's second cameraman, I know 
that in some sense I'm still in California, on 


AIR АЛ an, — 


my last trip to California, although I didn't 
know that at the time, and Jack is still alive 
and looking at the sky, sitting on the edge 
of the pool with his feet dangling in the 
water, in the void, the misty synthesis of our 
love and our separation. And what did this 
man called English do? I ask the detective. 
He would prefer not to answer, but faced 
with my steady gaze, he replies: Terrible 
things, and then he looks at the floor, as if 
it were forbidden to say those words in the 
Clinique Les Trapézes, in Nimes, as if I 
hadn't been acquainted with some terrible 
things in my time. And at this point I could 
press him for more, but why spoil such a 
beautiful afternoon by obliging him to tell 
what would surely be a sad story. And any- 
way the photo he has shown me of the man 
presumed to be English is old and blurry, it 
shows a young man of 20-something, and 
the English I remember was well into his 
30s, maybe even over 40, a definite shadow, 
if you'll pardon the paradox, a broken 
shadow; I didn't pay much attention to him, 
although his features have remained in my 
memory: blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, 
full lips, small ears. But describing him like 
that gives a false impression. I met К.Р. Eng- 
lish on one of my many shoots around Italy, 
but his face receded into the shadows long 
ago. And the detective says, It's all right, 
don't worry, take your time, Madame Silves- 
tri, at least you remember him, even that is 
useful, now I know for sure he's not a ghost. 
And I'm tempted to tell him that we are all 
ghosts, that all of us have gone too soon into 
the world of ghost movies, but he seems like 
a good man and I don't want to hurt him, 
so I keep my mouth shut. Anyway, who's to 
say he doesn't already know? 


From The Return by Roberto Bolaño, translated 
by Chris Andrews, available from New Directions 
in late July. 


“The queen feels that maybe the occasional duck or cute mouse 
might lighten things up a little for the tourist season." 


99 


PLAYBO!Y 


100 


ROGUES 


(continued from page 36) 
Party to understand how there can still 
be oxygen in the room for the Tea Party. 
Bush mangled the GOP brand into a gro- 
tesque form that conservatives haven't 
recognized in five years. 

Conservatives now live in the political- 
party equivalent of Mad Max. Law and 
order inside the Republican Party has 
deteriorated, leaving regional warlords 
to scavenge over what's left. The trouble 
is that some of the regional warlords 
are nuts or crooks. Among the better- 
known scavengers is Eric Odom's Tea 
Party-related PAC, Liberty First, which. 
I believe will be able to raise and spend 
millions this fall. 

Тһе rivalry between different Tea Party 
groups is real, and the leaders in Odom's 
group don't care much for the other lead- 
ers. Other groups are spending political 
capital fighting to lead a movement. My 
guys see it more as a fight to help reshape 
the debate and protect future generations 
from creeping socialism and unimagin- 
able debt. One of my people puts it better: 
"There's room for lots of organizations. 
There's room to focus on different races. 
Eric Odom's group is more traditional. 
We're a little more edgy. We use dirty 
words." A large number of people in our 
group have military backgrounds. When- 
ever squabbles erupt, their catchphrase is 
"Remember, guys, the enemy is to the left." 
Then their eyes literally drift to the left. 

Here's a good example of why some Tea 
Party members aren't as stupid as you шау 
think: They know the birther argument is 
a loser. (That's the theory that President 
Barack Obama's missing birth certificate 
is the key to unlocking a vast conspiracy.) 
It's no secret people think my friends are 
crazy; they are hypersensitive about being 
considered conspiracy theorists. 

Truthers are equally unwelcome. (Tru- 
thers believe 9/11 was an inside job.) 
Before the Texas primary earlier this 
year Glenn Beck asked Tea Party activist 


and gubernatorial candidate Debra Med- 
ina whether the government had a role 
in bringing down the World Trade Cen- 
ter. Her reply was “I think some very 
good questions have been raised in that 
regard.... The American people have not 
seen all the evidence.” The next day she 
told a local TV station, “The 9/11 Com- 
mission Report, you know, great sections 
of that are redacted, and they’re top 
secret. That makes us all wonder, Well, 
what’s happening back there? The same 
is true with the birth certificate thing. I 
think it’s healthy that people are asking 
questions.” 

Rejecting conspiracy theories is particu- 
larly challenging for my Tea Party friends 
because we share a distrust of the gov- 
ernment’s monopoly on truth. So I was 
especially impressed by the Tea Party’s 
response to Medina. Within four minutes 
of the radio clip being posted on HotAir 
.com, an e-mail circulated to members 
of the Ensuring Liberty board and to 
top bloggers Mike Flynn, Dana Loesch, 
Andrew Marcus and others. Here is one 
blogger’s response: “There needs to be a 
loud and resounding rejection of the tru- 
thers from the Tea Party movement. On 
the other hand, every time I have seen a 
truther show up at a Tea Party event, they 
have been rejected. So it’s not so much a 
purging as it is an official eff you. I hope 
most Tea Partyers get that.” 

Another leading activist, working out 
of his home in rural Illinois, said, “This 
is a teachable moment.” Within hours 
Medina was being treated like a malig- 
nant tumor within an otherwise credible 
movement. At one point she had threat- 
ened to garner enough votes to surpass 
Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison and force 
Governor Rick Perry into a runoff. In the 
end Medina picked up just 18.6 percent 
of the primary vote. Medina’s 18.6 per- 
cent was still enough to damage the Tea 
Party brand. There were suggestions about 
dumping the name altogether. “Now that 
the Tea Parties have totally fucked up their 
primary, “Tea Party’ may not be a brand 


“What do you mean we're out of gas? This is an electric car.” 


worth carrying. ‘Grassroots conservative’ 
may be more effective,” wrote one regional 
Tea Party leader. 

The same day, RedState.com blogger Erick 
Erickson wrote, “In Texas, Tea Party activists 
have rallied to Debra Medina, who just yes- 
terday refused to definitely dismiss the 9/11 
truther conspiracy as crackpot nonsense. If 
a candidate cannot do that, we cannot help 
that candidate. It’s that simple.” 

Our candidate-interview process is 
pretty simple. The candidate is asked two 
questions: 

(1) Are you a birther? 

(2) Are you a truther? 

If the answer is anything but “no” or 
“hell no,” the conversation ends right 
there. If the candidate answers correctly, 
the conversation continues, looking at 
viability and whether we can have a worth- 
while impact. The reality of this litmus test 
is as patriotic as practical. Donors don’t 
contribute to lunatics. 


Many of our friends think the print media, 
MSNBC and CNN are out to get them. A 
February New York Times article might as 
well have called the Tea Party a bunch of 
freaks. It linked the movement to the 1992 
Ruby Ridge standoff, Indiana Senate candi- 
date Richard Behney (who says he’s keeping 
his guns ready if the 2010 election doesn’t 
go his way) and Lyndon LaRouche group- 
ies. Nuts inhabit every group, of course, 
but most reporters aren't paid enough to 
actually report. 

Тһе reality is the Tea Party as we know it 
will cease to exist within an election cycle. 
Its ideas won't go away, but most of its lead- 
ers will. That's because most self-appointed 
leaders in this world simply don't know 
how to win. 

Mark my words: Without proper experi- 
enced guidance they will fuck it up. Rallies 
don’t win elections—votes do. Their egos 
are writing checks their organizations will 
never cash. In this world, anything from 
the Beltway is tainted. With the exception 
of one other person, the rest of our team 
is no less than 700 miles away. Therein lies 
the rub: Most people living in the hinter- 
lands tend to have trouble mastering 
the finer points of creating and funding 
501(c)(4) organizations and leveraging that 
support into targeted independent expen- 
ditures in races in which limited soft dollars 
can make a difference. 

Tea Party members are into less sexy 
things than a missing birth certificate, such 
as the national debt and privacy. They watch 
Fox News and read blogs. They’re conser- 
vatives, but don’t call them Republicans. 
They are intense followers of bloggers such 
as Jim Hoft (Gateway Pundit), Andrew Mar- 
cus (Founding Bloggers), Glenn Reynolds 
(Instapundit) and Mike Flynn (Big 
Government.com). BigGovernment.com 
was created last fall as part of Andrew Breit- 
bart's growing media empire. 

Тһе exciting news for me is that the 
organization still needs someone who 
can deliver a message to the masses using 
traditional means. Even the most forward- 
looking political professionals know 
blogging and text messaging will get you 


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PLAYBOY 


102 


only so far. That's where I come in. I'm 
part of the team prepping to deliver the 
Теа Party message via traditional means. 

A good piece of mail gets its message 
across in 10 seconds. Television gives you 
30 seconds, maybe. We're playing to the 
reptilian brain rather than the logic cen- 
ters, so we look for key words and images 
to leverage the intense rage and anxiety 
of white working-class conservatives. In 
other words, I talk to the same part of 
your brain that causes road rage. Ross 
Perot's big mistake was his failure to con- 
nect his pie charts with the primordial 
brain. Two years after Perot's first White 
House run the GOP figured this out, and. 
thus was born the "angry white man" and 
with him a 54-seat swing in the House of 
Representatives. 

The mail you'll see from me this fall 
won't have much to say about gays or the 
unborn. We have new foils, such as the 
Troubled Asset Relief Program and the 
American Recovery and Reinvestment Act 
of 2009. Leveraging rage about a bailout 
for mega-millionaires and an $800 billion 
"stimulus" that has barely moved unem- 
ployment below double figures is a cinch 
compared with explaining why Bobby and 
Joey’s marriage is bad for America. 

Designing a thank-you note from 
an imaginary Wall Street executive to 
working-class taxpayers is so much more 
rewarding than most other messag- 
ing campaigns. With new variable-print 


technology, the postcard can be person- 
alized and won't look as though it was 
printed overnight at Kinko's. 


Dear [insert name], 

I received my Troubled Asset Relief Program 
check from you and other taxpayers and wanted to 
personally thank you for your money. I will now 
be able to keep the third car and vacation home by 
[insert name of nearby vacation area]. 

I particularly want to thank [insert name of 
congressman] for ensuring billionaires like me 
do not have to worry about petty things like mort- 
gage payments and retirement. [insert name of 
congressman] has been instrumental in making 
sure billionaires like me are protected. 


Warm regards, 
[name of Wall Street billionaire] 


PS. [insert name of our candidate] opposes run- 
away government spending. He will vote to protect 
taxpayers, not billionaires like me. 


Bill Hennessy leads the St. Louis Tea Party 
and serves on the board of Ensuring Lib- 
erty. He has more in common with Joe the 
Plumber than with Mitt Romney. Hennessy 
will tell you he likes to stand up to bullies 
like Obama and congressional Democrats 
because he refuses to accept “their brand 
of happiness served up on a spoon." He's а 
new-media guru from flyover country. 

In the February primary for Illinois 


“Don't lie to me, Herb. There's someone else, isn't there?” 


governor, we were called to open the spigot 
for Tea Party candidate Adam Andrzejewski 
eight days before the election. Within 12 
hours the blogosphere exploded with pro- 
Andrzejewski messaging and organizing, 
a new TV spot was filmed, and mail was 
designed. I've worked on hundreds of cam- 
paigns and rarely have I seen one finish 
with such beauty. Former Polish president 
Lech Walesa came to Chicago to campaign 
for Andrzejewski. That same day every 
potential primary voter in Illinois with a 
Polish last name received a mailer asking 
him or her to vote for Andrzejewski. 

Jon David and Maura Flynn filmed the 
Andrzejewski TV spot. David is multi- 
talented. In addition to being one of the best 
directors I've seen, he took the stage before 
Sarah Palin at the Nashville Tea Party con- 
vention to sing his song "American Heart," 
which is like Lee Greenwood's "God Bless 
the USA" only better. David's song makes 
you want to waterboard a terrorist and then 
fuck a bald eagle. Under a cherry tree, on 
an American flag blanket. And by the way, 
his name isn't really Jon David. He uses a 
pseudonym because he would lose his job 
in Hollywood if it were known he uses his 
free time to play the beautiful intro ballad 
for Michele Bachmann speeches. 

Meanwhile, Hennessy's Twitter net- 
work exploded, as did St. Louis-based 
Mamalogues.com blogger Dana Loesch's, 
and ATraditionalLifeLived.com blogger 
Michelle Moore's. Loesch is the sweet 
Midwestern goth version of Laura Ingra- 
ham. At the Conservative Political Action 
Conference she had a constant stream of 
such interviewees as Phyllis Schlafly, Ann 
Coulter, Ken Blackwell and Newt Ging- 
rich. She fits right in, except she doesn't 
look like a troll. 

Moore is one tough gal. Her Twitter 
bio reads, "Smart Girl Politics Director 
of Technology & Midwest RC, Political 
Troublemaker, Spy. Bodybuilder. I'm not 
mean, you're just a sissy.” Between Hen- 
nessy, Loesch, Moore and others—like Jim 
Hoft and Gina Loudon—they can reach 
10,000-plus area activists in seconds. Each 
of these activists has separate networks of 
thousands of followers who can light up 
the state instantly. Add to it our family of 
friendly websites, and we're talking nearly 
10 million unique visitors a month. 

Although he didn’t win the primary, 
Andrzejewski shot up in those eight days 
to finish with nearly 15 percent—less than 
six percentage points off Bill Brady, who 
won with 20 percent of the vote. Hen- 
nessy’s turf accounted for the boost. On 
Election Day, Andrzejewski won nine coun- 
ties—his home county and other counties 
in the St. Louis suburbs where Hennessy 
and friends have reach. 


Although it’s mostly uncoordinated, 
Andrew Breitbart is pursuing a similar mis- 
sion through his new-media empire. He 
described himself in a 2007 interview as 
“Matt Drudge’s bitch,” but he's no intern. 
I met him at a Dupont Circle Starbucks 
in early 2009, where he couldn’t shake 
an entourage of well-wishers. The man 
is intense. Angry. My one-year-old has a 


longer attention span. But he's so sharp you 
feel smarter just being in the same room 
with him. The best part about Breitbart is 
that he has a knack for making others— 
whether it's the president, the press or 
others in power—sound like douches. 

When Breitbart gestured to the print 
reporters at a Tea Party event in Nashville 
and said, "It's not your business model 
that sucks; it's you that sucks," he whipped 
Теа Party members into a frenzy unlike 
anything I'd ever seen. Breitbart is one 
of them, except smarter, better connected 
and angrier; compared with him, Palin is 
Las Vegas dinner theater. That's why he 
is loved by Tea Partyers in a way Palin can 
never hope to be loved. 


Enter James O'Keefe, Stan Dai and Joe 
Basel, who were arrested this past Janu- 
ary for allegedly plotting to tamper with 
Democratic senator Mary Landrieu's office 
in New Orleans. Their arrest touched a 
nerve in the Tea Party community. Put in 
context, they are more like Tyler Durden 
than G. Gordon Liddy. MSNBC called it 
"Watergate Jr." Basel called it one of his 
weaker pranks. 

They don't seem to mind getting busted 
and are truly willing to take one for the 
team. They travel the country, causing 
mayhem, giving speeches and crashing 
with wealthy benefactors. Saul Alinsky 
is their hero. They are as talented at 
destroying liberal institutions as they 
are at picking up cougars. I don’t mean 
30-year-old mothers; I’m talking about 
tired 50-year-olds. With wrinkles. 

The last time I caught up with Basel he 
was carrying a garbage bag full of dirty 
laundry through the airport because 
he hadn’t been home in months. When 
fans show up to take a picture with him, 
he pulls out the crumpled federal bond 
papers that give him permission to travel. 
Basel, Dai and O’Keefe don’t work for the 
Tea Party, and some of their projects may 
not win Tea Party candidates more votes. 
But because of shared interests they’ve 
won the hearts of Tea Party activists and 
conservative cougars everywhere. 

I asked Basel why he does it. “I have а 
storied history of fucking with the power 
structure,” he says. “I get a high from 
exposing fraudsters. I love pushing the 
envelope and exposing the truth.” 

Basel’s wingman, Stan Dai, is equally 
disarming. Except Dai served as an oper- 
ations officer in a Department of Defense 
irregular-warfare fellowship program 
and may or may not have trained with 
the Israel Defense Forces. But Dai is a 
24-year-old immigrant from China—he's 
not exactly Jonathan Pollard. O'Keefe 
doesn't have much to say. What he lacks 
in social skills he makes up for in creative 
genius and enormous balls. 

Before Election Day there will be more 
stings. If you are part of a large organiza- 
tion with a vested interest in the Obama 
administration's success, be afraid. 


The inner core of Tea Party consultants 
I work with don't like to see their names 


in the news, but we do enjoy a good dark 
bar. Nearly all are based far from the Belt- 
way. Imagine the rooftop deck of a D.C. 
steakhouse with about 40 Tea Party celeb- 
rities. It's not the stuffy crowd that usually 
congregates at Morton's. Picture Breitbart 
holding court with donors in one corner 
and fake ACORN hooker Hannah Giles 
in another (too young to drink legally at 
the time), talking with the even younger 
doe-eyed, homeschooled daughter of a 
prominent activist. Though it had been 
a month since Washington's last snowfall, 
the rooftop deck still had piles of snow, 
allowing Maura Flynn to start the first- 
ever snowball fight inside Morton's bar. 
Welcome to my Tea Party party. 

We make a sport out of confusing the 
press. I had fake business cards printed to 
give to reporters. I watched a reporter walk 
out of a Conservative Political Action Con- 
ference reception in mid-February with a 
fistful of my faux business cards. Feeling 
a little guilty I told him not to file a story 
immediately because it would be guaran- 
teed to be dead wrong. He finally published 
it a month later, after one of our friends 
charitably spent three hours with him. 

At the Tea Party convention in Nashville 
I was photographed by The Washington Post 
while meeting with the inner sanctum, but 
the paper wasn't able to identify us in the 
caption. The picture captured my chin and 
arm and my colleague with a mouthful of 
hamburger as we listened to an Andrze- 
jewski campaign staffer explain why he 
knows how to run a campaign better. A local 
blog described him a couple of years ago as 
a "radically right-wing psychopath." That 
was generous. In reality he's an Allstate 
IT guy who should not be allowed near 
tequila, sharp objects or a campaign. 

Causing mayhem is not limited to deal- 
ing with the press. We've quietly acquired 
Service Employees International Union 
shirts to wear at Tea Party rallies. For big 
labor, that's like handing out TSA uni- 
forms in Kabul. And at a rally in St. Louis 
this March, fake SEIU protesters joined 
the Tea Party protest. 


Various Republican congressional leaders 
met for hours with our leadership and our 
finance team in the Richard Nixon suite at 
the Omni Shoreham Hotel in Washington. 
Never in my career had I had a congress- 
man look me in the eyes behind closed 
doors and say with such sincerity, "Give 
me a list of what you need me to do." The 
second meeting drew 10 congressmen. 
There we sat, inside the Capitol Hill Club 
(which shares the building that houses the 
Republican National Committee), sharing 
ideas on how we can work together. The 
third meeting drew 17 congressmen. We'll 
see help with fundraising and research 
from friendly members of Congress. It's 
what you won't see that's more important. 
Our role is to quietly help a dozen grass- 
roots conservative candidates win in the 
fall, using traditional and nontraditional 
means. If you don't hear from us directly, 
we will have done our job. 


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PLAYBO!Y 


CAMERON DIAZ 


(continued from page 32) 
home, open a beer, turn on sports on TV, 
turn down the volume and turn up rock 
and roll to the highest decibel. On week- 
ends when all the big sporting events were 
on, they'd have their friends over for par- 
ties and barbecues for the Super Bowl, the 
Sugar Ray Leonard-Roberto Duran fights. 
On other weekends, because my mom and 
dad knew how to do everything and we 
couldn't afford to hire anyone to remodel 
the house, they taught me and my sister. 
how to build our deck, do brickwork, lay 
floors, do the gardening. 

PLAYBOY: Did you get hassled about being 
a blue-eyed blonde kid with a Spanish 
last name? 

DIAZ: Where I grew up all the Diazes had 
brown hair, brown skin and brown eyes, so 
there was a bit of "You're not a Latina." I 
do identify with my culture. My dad's first 
language was Spanish, but he didn't teach 
it to us because he was made fun of grow- 
ing up and didn't want that to happen to 
my sister and me. He regretted that choice 
later, but it's all right because I've lived all 
over the world and never picked up even 
the smallest bit of another language. I 
wasn't born with that chip. 

PLAYBOY: What do you most remember 
about Long Beach Polytechnic High, known 
for its record number of NFL draftees and 
for being a location in American Pie and 
American Beauty? 

DIAZ: What I loved was that it was 3,500 
diverse kids—Cambodian, Mexican, Viet- 
namese, Uruguayan—kids who wore turbans, 
Samoan kids who wore sarongs, had tattoos 
and gray hair down to here at 13. There were 
Crips gang members too. 

PLAYBOY: And also Snoop Dogg, right? 
DIAZ: Snoop was a year older than me. He 
stood out. He was tall and skinny and wore 
ponytails all over his head. I’m sure I prob- 
ably bought weed from him. 

PLAYBOY: Were your parents strict about 
weed and alcohol? 

DIAZ: I was never really rebellious, because 
my parents let me do whatever I wanted. I 
grew up with weed and alcohol around me. 
My parents were clear that it wasn’t some- 
thing they wanted me to get into, but it 
wasn't something they could stop me from 
getting. When they said no to me, I lis- 
tened. As I got older, they trusted me. They 
were like, “If you’re going to drink, don’t 
drive. Call us.” 

PLAYBOY: Was your high school rough? 
DIAZ: Oh yeah. You moved out of the way 
fast if a girl pulled back her hair, took off 
her earrings and necklaces and then put on 
all her girlfriends’ rings like brass knuckles. 
The girl who had her hair loose and her 
necklaces and earrings on always came out 
with bloody ears, scratches and her weave 
hanging down. 

PLAYBOY: On which end of the hurting were 
you usually? 

DIAZ: I fought boys more than girls. I 
was a tomboy who was always made fun 
of and picked on by boys because I was a 
superskinny, ratty tough kid. I got called 


104 Skeletor. If your bite wasn’t as big as your 


bark, you were fucked. My father was a 
total scrapper who often came home hav- 
ing been in a fight, and one of the first 
things I remember him doing was teach- 
ing me how to fight. By high school I had 
learned the skill of not having to get into 
those situations. 

PLAYBOY: Did you have to fight off the 
football jocks when you were a flag- 
twirling Polyette? 

DIAZ: I wanted to be on the squad because 
we got to do dance routines. I hated doing 
the field shit. Those flags? I was like, “Are 
you fucking kidding me?” I got kicked off the 
squad because I would ditch phys ed. My sis- 
ter was the good kid. I was the one who һай 
to be handled because I was strong willed. 
PLAYBOY: What kinds of guys were you into 
back then? 

DIAZ: I was into the bad boys, like the kid 
who sat next to me in class who would sew 
up his fingers with a needle and thread, 
chop up SweeTarts and snort them and 
put safety pins through his earlobes. That’s 
what distracted me in class. When I signed 
with my manager at 21, my mom said to 
him, “My daughter is a good person who 
will always do right by you and work hard. 
The one thing you should know is that it’s 
always going to be about the boys. She’s 
boy crazy.” It’s true. I love the men—in a 
very good way. 

PLAYBOY: As a kid, were you into any bad- 
boy stars? 

DIAZ: Raiders of the Lost Ark was a big thing 
for me. When I was nine, in my mind I was 
kissing Harrison Ford, and he was an amaz- 
ing kisser. I was going to marry him. It’s 
not a secret today. He knows. He’s taken, 
so what can I do? But I also loved Karen 
Allen’s character. 

PLAYBOY: Why? 

DIAZ: She keeps stride with the man and 
hauls ass barefoot across the tarmac in a cut- 
off wedding dress when the plane is about 
to blow up. My grandmother was a scrappy 
hard-core motherfucker like that—a pioneer 
woman who butchered her own livestock, 
grew her own vegetables and made us soap 
out of bacon grease. She didn’t like cold 
weather, so when that set in, she’d move 
from California to a little house in Arizona, 
miles from anyone. My uncle says his scar- 
ring memory was seeing my grandmother, in 
only a skirt and flip-flops, holding a machete 
in one hand and a squirming rattlesnake 
she'd just beheaded for the night's supper in 
the other. I come from that mentality. 
PLAYBOY: What were your first jobs? 

DIAZ: When I was 12 my mom put my sister 
and me to work in her office a couple of days 
a week filing and doing other work. Later 
I worked for a TCBY yogurt shop, and I 
bused tables and hosted at a family-owned 
restaurant called Hof’s Hut. Because my 
dad hated his job, I always said “If I don’t 
love it, then I’m not going to do it,” so I have 
never done a job I didn’t love. 

PLAYBOY: How did you get saved from the 
food business? 

DIAZ: I started modeling at 16, during my 
junior year of high school. I had started 
going to places in Hollywood with friends, 
and one night the photographer Jeff Dunas 
asked what agency I was with. I wasn’t even 
sure what he meant, but he gave me his card 


and said I should have my parents call him. 
My parents were so supportive. They had 
impressed on my sister and me that what- 
ever we wanted to do, we were capable of 
doing. We didn’t have to be the best, just do 
our best. That took a lot of pressure off. 
PLAYBOY: Considering the hair pulling that 
went on at your school, did you tell your 
friends and classmates you were modeling? 
DIAZ: I kept it secret from kids at school for 
the first six months. Then the summer after 
my junior year I went to Japan to model 
and lived there three months, sharing an 
apartment with another model, who was 15. 
When I came back to Long Beach I was like, 
“Т don't give a shit who knows.” 

PLAYBOY: After a summer like that, normal 
high school life must have been a letdown. 
DIAZ: It was apparent I had no interest in 
any part of high school or the education 
I was getting there. I wanted to go into 
the world and learn about things that were 
relevant to life. My parents said, “Look, 
you're 16, and, sorry, but all we know is 
what we know, and we’ve given it to you. 
We're not going to keep you here just 
because we're afraid for you.” Then my 
mom added, “I just hope you keep a big 
stick next to your bed." 

PLAYBOY: Did you need one? 

DIAZ: Japan was a whole lot safer than Long 
Beach. I did find a boyfriend while I was in 
Japan—of course. An older guy. 

PLAYBOY: That would be the video direc- 
tor Carlos de la Torre. But had you already 
been with a guy before that? 

DIAZ: Yes! Oh my God, no—I don’t want 
my mom to know. Actually, fuck it. I had 
already had sex. I had a lot of encounters 
that weren't "going all the way” but were fun 
and made me very enthusiastic and excited 
about the possibilities. 

PLAYBOY: What was your first time like? 
DIAZ: I kind of did it just to do it. I wanted 
to get it over with just so it was done. 
PLAYBOY: Did you pick a bad boy? 

DIAZ: No, he wasn't bad, and that probably 
made the difference. After that it was as if 
the gates were open. So Japan was great. I 
had my own apartment. I met somebody I 
ended up hanging out with. It was amaz- 
ing to be young and free and have all those 
experiences. 

PLAYBOY: What did you figure out about 
yourself through those experiences? 

DIAZ: The big thing I learned was how non- 
competitive I am. When I started modeling, 
I had a blonde, blue-eyed girlfriend who 
always got called in for the same casting. 
Sometimes I got the job; sometimes she got 
it. We're still good friends. My mom always 
said, "If it’s your job, you'll get it," and 
even today I never look at other actresses 
and say, "I wish I had what they have." I 
love women. I root for women. The only 
women I don't like are jealous, spiteful ones 
who stab other women in the back and do 
shitty things. 

PLAYBOY: Young people away from home 
sometimes get into trouble. How did you 
handle alcohol and drugs? 

DIAZ: I was 19 and in Australia for the first 
time doing a commercial. I didn't know 
Australians are actually superhuman and 
don't have livers. I was out one harm- 
less, wonderfully fun day with a group of 


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hospitable Australians who were showing 
me Sydney. I was keeping up with them 
drinking, and they got pretty shit-faced, 
but I got alcohol poisoning. I survived, but 
it was as bad as alcohol poisoning gets. I 
thought I was dying. 

PLAYBOY: Do you have to watch what you 
drink? 

DIAZ: No, it had nothing to do with exces- 
siveness. It was a simple mistake. I know 
what I can and can't handle. 

PLAYBOY: Did any modeling experience make 
you consider ditching the whole career? 
DIAZ: Once I went to shoot pictures with a 
photographer who turned out to be a total 
creep. I walked in and looked him in the 
eye. He said, "Trust me," and I was just 
like, This guy is bad news. I always know 
to trust my street sensibilities. I said, "No, 
thank you" and walked right out. He never 
took a picture. 

PLAYBOY: Did it raise eyebrows in Hollywood. 
when, in 1994 at the age of 21, you got cast 
in The Mask despite having no real acting 
experience? 

DIAZ: As for what others think, if you're 
not happy for someone's success, I'm not 
interested in you. I don't think I've done 
anything in my life to make people hate 
me and not want me to do well. There are 
people you see and go, "Wow, really—that 
asshole got that movie?" I'm never going to 
wish something bad on somebody. The bal- 
ance of the universe means that if somebody 


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gets successful in the right way, it means only 
continued success. If they get there in the 
wrong way, it will even out. 

PLAYBOY: But you know the casting couch 
exists in Hollywood. 

DIAZ: There’s a subculture of the business 
in which that happens, but the real business 
is about numbers. Every time I do a movie, 
people sit and run the numbers. We study 
them. We negotiate deals over them. They 
put people in movies because they think 
those people will recruit the audience’s 
money, not because they got a hand job. 
They may put somebody in a movie because 
audiences want to think they're going to get 
a hand job from them, but they're not actu- 
ally going to get the hand job. 

PLAYBOY: What pops into your head when 
you remember you and Jim Carrey mak- 
ing The Mask? 

DIAZ: How we laughed our asses off. He 
was phenomenal, and I was in awe of what 
he did. We had a blast and had such great 
chemistry. I've always had a lot of confi- 
dence, but the director, Chuck Russell, 
encouraged me, saying, "You can do it." I 
call it on-the-job training. I'm still doing on- 
the-job training, still learning. 

PLAYBOY: You've never studied acting? 
DIAZ: When I was auditioning for The Mask 
I worked with a coach, and I've worked with 
coaches over the years. I have ADD. My 
attention goes to so many different places. I 
don't focus. I'm terrible at doing homework, 


so I need somebody to make me do it. 
PLAYBOY: It seems to be working, because 
you've held your own in movies starring 
Daniel Day-Lewis, Al Pacino, Leonardo 
DiCaprio, John Malkovich and John Cusack, 
let alone been directed by Martin Scorsese, 
Oliver Stone, Cameron Crowe and Curtis 
Hanson, no less. 

DIAZ: I'm lucky. I'm not an ambitious per- 
son. I never project into the future, like “ГЇЇ 
be happy when..." fill in the blank. I don't 
look beyond being happy doing the movie 
I'm making now. 

PLAYBOY: You've had award nominations for 
There's Something About Mary, Vanilla Sky апа 
Being John Malkovich. Do you secretly lust. 
after the kinds of dramatic roles played by, 
say, Kate Winslet or Cate Blanchett? 

DIAZ: Working with Daniel Day-Lewis in. 
Gangs of New York put a lot of things in per- 
spective for me. I saw the way he worked 
and the outcome of his hard work. I could 
do exactly what he does and have completely 
different results. Why would I put myself in 
the position of trying to do something only 
Daniel Day-Lewis can do? 

PLAYBOY: So you're saying you know your 
strengths and limitations? 

DIAZ: If I had the ability to focus on one 
thing, I would be a different actor. I don't 
have that ability. My brain doesn't work 
that way. I do the roles I do because of the 
person I am. I feel really grateful, and Pm 
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kinds of films. Have I done it spectacularly? 
Not always. Maybe never. But I've done it 
with everything I had at the time. And that's 
all I can do. Whether other people consider 
my accomplishments to be successful or not 
doesn't matter to me. I don't give a fuck 
what other people think. I have my own 
standards I live by. 

PLAYBOY: You've co-starred with actors who 
could be considered eccentric and others 
who could be called certifiable. How do you 
deal with those situations? 

DIAZ: Again, I don't give a fuck. It's not 
about me. We have a finite amount of time 
to get to know each other, make it work, 
make the best of the relationships we forge 
and create something together. You have 
to make the most of it. I love the challenge 
of having to learn how to communicate, to 
know what words I 
can and can't use to 
get the most out of a 
situation. 

PLAYBOY: In 2008 
Anna Faris told this 
magazine she was still 
uncomfortable about 
the widespread belief 
that she mocked you 
in her performance 
as the hippie-dippy 
self-absorbed actress 
in Sofia Coppola's 
Lost in Translation. 
DIAZ: She's lovely, 
talented, funny, and 
Ilove watching her. 
I have no ill feelings 
toward her whatso- 
ever. You can't hurt 
my feelings. I'm the 
first to make fun of 
myself. 

PLAYBOY: When have 
you most embar- 
rassed yourself in 
front of another 
celebrity? 

DIAZ: I saw Jeff 
Bridges at this year's 
rehearsal for the 
Oscars ceremony. 
I didn't know what 
to say, but I rushed 
over and was like, 
"Um, hi. Congratula- 
tions on everything. 
You must be so excited," and he gave me 
this sideways look and smile. We just didn't 
connect. There was no response. I was like, 
Okay. Then I started sweating and thinking, 
Wait, he's nominated, right? Or did I just 
totally make an ass of myself? 

PLAYBOY: You've talked about the movie 
business being about numbers. What does 
it mean to you that What Happens in Vegas 
had good box office numbers but your 
good work in In Her Shoes and My Sister's 
Keeper wasn't seen by anywhere near as 
many people, and your horror movie The 
Box bombed? 

DIAZ: I never put that kind of pressure on. 
myself. I don't do a movie for any other 
reason than to have an audience enjoy it, 
to have a good time making it and to be 
proud of it. I like to do a couple of more 


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commercial films and then do a smaller 
one—the kind that makes only so much 
money, whether I'm in it or someone else 
is. 1 appreciate the opportunity to do that. 
I trust the people I do business with to 
make it so that we do good business. It 
may not do phenomenal business, but 
we're not stepping out on a limb, so we're 
all going to be okay and be able to do busi- 
ness together again. 

PLAYBOY: In Being John Malkovich your 
character and Catherine Keener's explore 
a trippy kind of lesbianism. How do you 
view sexuality? 

DIAZ: We are who we are. We all know what 
drives us. Sexuality and love can be differ- 
ent things. I can be attracted to a woman 
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bian. We put these restraints and definitions 
on people, but it's hard to define. 

PLAYBOY: You've been romantically associated 
with well-known guys, including Matt Dillon, 
Jared Leto and Justin Timberlake. When a 
relationship is over, do you move on easily? 
DIAZ: I feel about a lot of things in life but 
certainly about men—that we're with the 
people we're supposed to be with when it's 
meant to be. I'm so grateful my parents were 
a loving, beautiful example of what people 
do when they care and want to make some- 
thing work. For me, it just hasn't been the 
time to make that commitment. I have an 
extraordinary life. I've had really success- 
ful relationships, even though they've lasted 
only a certain amount of time. I'm okay 
with that. With some of the relationships 


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that have drawn public interest, I feel as 
though I've evolved, learned and become 
better equipped. I don't feel I need to make 
it different for the outside world that's look- 
ing in and judging it. 

PLAYBOY: The way you've spoken about your 
closeness to your father, it must have been 
especially hard when he died of pneumo- 
nia in 2008. 

DIAZ: My dad was so powerful, a sheer force. 
His death was sudden and completely unex- 
pected. We're lucky to have such a strong 
family, and it's completely different now 
that my father's no longer physically with. 
us. When someone dies, people say "He'll 
always be with you," but until that loss I 
didn't realize he's with me in a way he never 
was before. There's a treasure to be dug out 
of every hole left empty next to you. 
PLAYBOY: Do we wind 
up falling in love 
with versions of our 
parents? 

DIAZ: I can see qual- 
ities of my father in 
some of the men I've 
been with, though 
none of them were 
men like my father. 
My father always 
expected the best of 
me, never diminished 
me, never expected 
me to be less than 
who I was. That's 
hard for some men; 
it's threatening. But 
because my father 
instilled that in us, 
there's no going back 
for me. I've tried sev- 
ering parts of myself. 
to fit into a relation- 
ship that needed me 
to be a little smaller. 
It doesn't work. 
PLAYBOY: The tabloids 
have been speculating 
that you and Yankees 
superstar Alex Rodri- 
guez may be an item. 
What's the truth? 
DIAZ: No, no, no. I've 
been in relationships 
since I was 16 years 
old. In the past three 
years Гуе made a 
conscious decision not to be in a relation- 
ship for as long as I want. I've stayed away 
from all the traps out there for me to just fall 
into something that will potentially lead me 
down the same road. I love being a woman 
to a man, but I want to have a relationship 
with myself right now. 

PLAYBOY: That can't possibly stop guys from. 
trying out their best pickup moves, though. 
DIAZ: I do get men trying to pick me up. Pm 
always interested. I never shut down any 
man who's willing to ask me out, unless he's 
a total douche bag. It takes а lot for a guy to 
ask out a girl like me—not because I think 
I'm super special or anything. It's just that 
Ithink men are intimidated, and it's a lot to 
get involved with. It's not uncomplicated. 
PLAYBOY: Are you complicated? 


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DIAZ: I’m super easy. I’m not a complicated 107 


PLAYBOY 


108 


person, but I’m complex like any other 
human being. I know myself. I know what 
I want and what I don't want. I’m not a 
scorned woman. I’m not a resentful person. 
I'm open. I'm really into pleasure. I love to 
take a big bite out of everything. 

PLAYBOY: How much do the by-products 
of fame—such as the tabloids and the 
paparazzi—complicate your life? 

DIAZ: You wish there weren't people who 
think it's okay to pay people to tell horri- 
ble stories about other people's lives and 
reveal incredibly damaging, hurtful things 
to the public. But if I spent any time read- 
ing what people make up about my life, 
I would be taking away from how I live 
my life, which is so much better than any- 
one could imagine. With photographers, 
you're happy to stop and give a photo- 
graph because you understand that's part 
of the business. It's when they're aggres- 
sive and attack that I wish I could draw 
that line. It goes back to the whole balance 
of the universe. You have to have faith that 
one day all the good or harm people do to 
others will come back to them. 

PLAYBOY: When you decide to have a rela- 
tionship again, what things about a guy are 
certain to turn your crank? 

DIAZ: Obviously I have no type if you look 
at the men I've dated. I like confidence, but 
Гуе learned that just because somebody has 
confidence doesn't mean he's secure. I'm 
primal on an animalistic level, kind of like, 
"Bonk me over the head, throw me over 
your shoulder. You man, me woman." Not 
everybody has the right chemistry and the 
right kind of primal thing for me. 
PLAYBOY: What has been the best atmo- 
sphere or background for your peak 
caveman-cavewoman adventures? 

DIAZ: There are so many; I can't pick one. 


There's something about moonlight on the 
body and things happening sort of free and 
open. Outdoors is something I'm totally 
game and down for. I love to cuddle. I love 
physical contact. I have to be touching my 
lover, like, always. It's not optional. It's an 
absolute. My lover is everything to me. 
PLAYBOY: When have you been most reck- 
lessly impulsive in the name of love? 

DIAZ: Oh gosh, I can't even count how many 
times I've gotten on a plane for love. It's 
not unusual in this business; my lifestyle 
demands it. I'm always traveling for [whis- 
pers] cock. You've got to go where it is. 
PLAYBOY: Sex toys, pro or con? 

DIAZ: A long time ago a girlfriend and I said, 
one, a woman should never be in a broken- 
down car without her AAA card, and two, 
she should never be alone without a dildo. 
PLAYBOY: Do you see yourself ever stepping 
away from acting, or are you in it for life? 
DIAZ: Do I think I'm going to do it forever? 
Maybe. Do I think ГЇЇ ever stop? Maybe. I 
just know that right now, things work. I'm 
having a great time. Am I tired? Fuck, yeah, 
I'm exhausted from working my ass off at 
doing what I love to do. But it isn't so much 
going to work; it’s the amount of time the 
work I love takes me away from doing other 
things I enjoy. After I'm done promoting 
Knight and Day I don't know what I'm going 
to do, but I'm starting to fantasize about 
how I want to spend my time with family 
and friends. I have an extraordinary life, 
for which I am so grateful. If you're grateful 
for what you have, you're in need of nothing 
else. I can't imagine how my life could get 
better, but I'm sure it can. It will—because 
it always does. 


"One day, son, all this will be in color." 


BUNNY 
(continued from page 69) 


American culture with his magazine by 
making America safe for sex. The clubs 
were a brick-and-mortar tribute to this 
revolution—a way, said Hefner, "to give 
the world of Playboy a street address," as 
Disneyland had given a street address to 
Walt Disney's imagination. In fact, some 
observers, including the magazine itself, 
promptly dubbed the Playboy Club "Disney- 
land for Adults," a funny and perhaps obvi- 
ous analogy but one that contained a more 
profound analysis of the cultural veins the 
clubs would tap than they might have real- 
ized. So to understand the Playboy Club 
phenomenon it helps to start with Disney, 
as strange as that may sound. 

On the face of it there may not have been 
two more dissimilar American icons than con- 
servative Walt Disney and liberated Hugh 
Hefner, yet that was only on the face of it. 
Like Disney's parents, Hefner's were solid 
Midwesterners—Disney's from Kansas, 
Hefner's from Nebraska—who migrated to 
Chicago, where both Disney and Hefner were 
born. Both grew up in religious, repressive, 
emotionally frigid households. Both were 
childhood dreamers who sought solace and 
escape in drawing cartoons. Both had active 
fantasy lives, and both, of course, parlayed 
their fantasies into empires by understanding 
the American desire for wish fulfillment. 

Disney's animations and Hefner's mag- 
azine eventually led to monuments where 
others could act out the fantasy. Disney- 
land was a way to make tangible what was 
on-screen, the Playboy Clubs a way to make 
tangible what was on the page. That meant 
the Playboy Clubs were not simply updated, 
upscale nightspots for drink, dining and 
entertainment. They were total environments 
and full experiences—a place to "enter" the 
magazine as fully as Disneyland allowed one 
to “enter” the animations. As PLAYBOY itself 
put it in its first examination of the Chicago 
club, it was devised for "sophisticated plea- 
sure" and "dedicated to projecting the richly 
romantic mood, the fun and joie de vivre that 
are so much a part of the publication." 

In large measure this was dependent on 
a sense of discontinuity between what was 
outside the club and what was inside. As 
Disneyland had a berm surrounding it to 
demarcate its fantasy from the dull reality 
beyond its gates, the Chicago Playboy Club 
had a Mondrian-inspired canopy above the 
door that suggested cool modern elegance. 
But the clubs also had a berm of sorts, a 
berm of privilege: private membership. 
Тһе Playboy Club was the sanctum sancto- 
rum provided exclusively for "keyholders," 
who paid a fee, and their guests. This was 
a select group, even if it was self-selected. 
These denizens were, according to PLAYBOY, 
the "most important, most aware, most afflu- 
ent men of the community." 

What they found when they crossed the 
threshold were lands of silky sophistication. 
One entered a long dimly lit barroom that was 
understated and buzzy rather than noisy— 
the ultimate cocktail lounge—decorated by 
transparencies of Playmates on the walls. 
Then one could ascend a stairway carpeted 


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109 


PLAYBOY 


in burnt orange to the Living Room, a din- 
ing and mixing area with a fireplace that the 
magazine described as having the “comfort- 
able decor of the plushest urban pad.” One 
floor up was the Library—what nightclub had 
a library?—an intimate, candlelit jazz club 
as sedate as its name. And then up another 
flight was the Penthouse, a larger club fea- 
turing big-name headliners. It was all the 
epitome of cool. 

That might have been the most funda- 
mental similarity between the Playboy Club 
and Disneyland, and the deepest source of 
their appeal. Where most amusement parks 
were bastions of abandon, Disneyland was 
precisely the opposite. It was predicated on 
control, on the reassurance of the expected. 
Oddly, given the conservative caricature of 
PLAYBOY as debauched and hedonistic, the 
Playboy Clubs were also examples of con- 
trol. They were elegant rather than opulent, 
soft rather than loud, muted rather than 
brassy, decorous rather than licentious, and 
extremely tasteful in every respect—the per- 
fect lair for the idealized рглувоу reader, who 
was himself all these things. 

In truth it was the interface of sexuality 
with composed self-possession rather than 
the sexuality itself that made the clubs cul- 
tural trailblazers. Hefner is often credited 
with being the man who ripped through 
the veil of 1950s complacency and prud- 
ery. In fact he did something much more 
complex, subtle and significant. He didn’t 
really make America safe for sex; with his 
clubs he made sex safe for America. Before 
Hefner the idea of “sophisticated pleasure” 
was oxymoronic. Far from sophisticated, 
American male sexuality was generally and 
crudely hypermasculine—a function of mus- 
cle, aggression and force associated with such 
things as manly labor, the outdoors, athlet- 
icism, ruggedness and risk. Its archetypes 
were slabs like John Wayne or Brando’s Stan- 
ley Kowalski, both of whom had an almost 
bovine stolidity. Indeed, with the sole excep- 
tion of Cary Grant, even the smarter, more 
self-reflective postwar male sex symbols— 
Bogart, Mitchum, Lancaster, Douglas—were 
required to display masculine brio. 

Тһе young Hugh Hefner was the antithesis 
of this sort of obvious sexuality. He was thin, 
almost wiry. Norman Mailer described him 


THERES No ONE 
А WG^V| ( AROUND. I THINK 


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ILL co тов 


as looking like a "lean, rather modest cowboy 
of middle size" who “was not the kind of man 
one would have expected to see as the pub- 
lisher of his magazine, nor the owner of the 
Playboy Club." He was a bookish intellectual, 
a pipe smoker. He wore pajamas rather than 
flannel shirts or ripped tees. He preferred 
cocktails to whiskey or beer, Franz Kline to 
"Thomas Hart Benton, foreign sports cars to 
Cadillacs and the indoors to the outdoors. He 
loved jazz, cutting-edge comics like Lenny 
Bruce and Dick Gregory, minimalist archi- 
tecture in the Mies van der Rohe and Frank 
Lloyd Wright style, and modern furniture. 
Forswearing macho, he was the epicure who 
always knew what was cool. 

Though Hefner would claim his chief 
adversary was American conformity, his real 
adversary may have been the conventional 
idea of male masculinity, and his real achieve- 
ment may have been reinventing the whole 
idea of male sexuality in his own image. By 
the time Hefner was done, male sexuality 
wouldn't only be about brawn, wealth, power 
or even size—the first three difficult to acquire 
and the last impossible—it would be about 
style, which was available to any man with 
the good sense to develop it. It was Hefner as 
much as anyone who made sex a function of 
style. Hefner removed the vulgarity from sex 
and put the seduction into American coitus. 

Тһеге was no better expression of this sea 
change in sexuality than the Playboy Clubs. 
They weren't just oases for tired businessmen 
to wind down, entertain clients or ogle beau- 
tiful women; the Playboy Clubs were places 
where a new kind of man could indulge a 
particular style of urbanity. In them he could 
act cool, feel cool, be cool. Cool was in the 
air. That meant the Playboy Clubs were an 
ethos, not simply a location or, like Disney- 
land, an escape. At the clubs you could sip 
the cocktails the magazine extolled, listen to 
the jazz the magazine promoted, hear the 
comics the magazine featured and see the 
girls the magazine touted. The clubs even 
captured the cool political winds of the 
1960s. They were fully integrated—guests, 
entertainers, Bunnies—at a time when the 
civil rights movement was fighting, often 
bloodily, for equality elsewhere. 

And because PLAYBOY was a state of mind, 
it wasn't just in the hipster precincts that the 


ARREST! 


Playboy Clubs thrived. It was appropriate 
the first club opened in Chicago, not only 
Hefner's hometown and home to the maga- 
zine's headquarters but also Carl Sandburg's 
"city of the big shoulders," a masculine, 
deeply ethnic city one would not necessar- 
ily have thought of as a mecca of cool any 
more than one might have thought of the 
professorial Hefner as America's foremost 
sexual provocateur. Although Playboy Clubs 
soon opened in Miami, where more than 
2,000 people jammed the streets the first 
night; New York, where a stream of lumi- 
naries including Joan Collins, Tony Bennett 
and Ed Sullivan braved freezing temper- 
atures to attend the debut; New Orleans; 
and Atlanta, they also appeared in such 
incongruous locales as Baltimore, St. Louis, 
Kansas City and Cincinnati, where students 
from nearby Xavier University protested by 
carrying placards proclaiming PLAYBOY РНІ- 
LOSOPHY VS. CHRISTIAN MORALITY, SHOULD WE 
SACRIFICE MORALS FOR BUSINESS? 

But if the raison d'étre of the Playboy 
Clubs was to provide a pocket of cool ambi- 
ence amid the vast American uncool, their 
primary appeal was indisputably the women: 
the Bunnies. As the story goes, Hefner and 
his associates were trying to come up with 
the right garb and the right image for the 
clubs' female attendants, dismissing linge- 
rie because one couldn't really serve in such 
a costume, when someone suggested they 
deploy the magazine's logo—the bunny. Thus 
the waitresses became Bunnies, in colorful 
satin-rayon bodices with matching ears and 
three-inch pumps, white cuffs, a collar with. 
a bow tie, black fishnet stockings (originally), 
а name tag rosette on the hip and, of course, 
the yarn (later faux fur) cottontail. It was Hef- 
ner who recommended cinching the costume 
to accentuate a narrow waist and a large bust, 
and cutting the sides higher to reveal more 
leg. So was born one of the most widely rec- 
ognized images in the world. 

Hefner said he had gotten the idea of the 
Playboy Club from a Chicago institution, the 
Gaslight Club, whose waitresses dressed as 
flappers, and the idea of roaming beauties 
from watching The Great Ziegfeld—the biopic 
of showman Florenz Ziegfeld—in his youth. 
The Bunnies would, in Hefner’s words, be 
“waitresses elevated to the level of a Ziegfeld 


OKAY; YOUNG LADY! 
CMON OUTTA THERE! 
HERES NO SWIMMIN? 
ALLOWED IN THIS 
POND! YOURE UNDER 


WELL SHUCKS, 
THERE AINT NO 
LAW AGAINST 

UNDRESSIN“ 


You WARN 
ME BEFORE 

І сот 
UNDRESSED? H 


Follies Girl." But Ziegfeld's girls were ethe- 
real—distant, inaccessible goddesses who 
represented an idealization of American 
female sexuality as distinct from the avail- 
able strumpets at the other end of the sexual 
spectrum. Whatever his initial intentions, 
Hefner didn't wind up repositioning the 
Follies showgirl into 1960s America. Rather, 
he did exactly what he had done with male 
sexuality. He redefined it by creating the sort 
of woman the Playboy man would desire—in 
effect, reconceptualizing womanhood itself. 

Тһе Playboy man—and the Playboy Club 
devotee—clearly liked women and enjoyed 
sex, but in this as in everything else he was a 
connoisseur. As a sophisticate, what he didn't 
like were obvious women, cheap women, 
lascivious women who were good only for 
a bang. That's why, for his Playmates, Hef- 
ner had chosen women who were not only 
beautiful and well-endowed but also worth 
a man's attention. No trollops were allowed. 
The Bunnies may have taken that idea even 
further, if only because they were actually 
present. As Hefner's brother, Keith, who 
would help manage the clubs, described а 
Bunny, "She may be sexy, but it's a fresh, 
healthy sex—not cheap or lewd." One arti- 
cle called her "the all-girl girl." 

Just as the Playboy man became a model 
for a new, cool sophistication, the Playboy 
Bunny became a model for a new, mod- 
ern kind of woman—one who was sexy and 
desirable but also independent, ambitious, 
accomplished and comfortable in her own 
skin. In the many pictorials that featured the 
"Bunnies of..." their pulchritude was never 
emphasized. It was their intelligence and 
their achievements. The Bunnies were art- 
ists, dancers and ballerinas, musicians, opera 
singers, actresses, former stewardesses, pilots, 
athletes, chess players, karate masters and 
poets. One was fluent in four languages. One 
intended to start a finishing school. Another 
was a social worker. One had attended the 
Sorbonne and another had a Ph.D. Many 
were students working their way through 
school. rLAvBov went to great lengths to show 
the whole woman was definitely more than 
the sum of her measurements. 

The point—an important one in Ameri- 
can sexuality—was that for all the depictions 
of Hefner as a heedless libertine, his Bun- 
nies represented, and the clubs promoted, 
a much deeper and more traditional form 
of romance, albeit one with a sexual com- 
ponent. The Bunnies were women with 
whom one could share emotional and intel- 
lectual bonds, not just sexual pleasure. Or 
to put it another way, the sexual pleasure 
was informed by a much larger range of 
feelings and affinities, one reason no one 
would ever mistake the Playboy Clubs for 
Plato's Retreat, the New York carnal den of 
the late 1970s and early 1980s. The Playboy 
Clubs actually encouraged the idea of sex 
as a part of human expression—sex as an 
attitude as well as an act. 

Of course not everyone shared this view. 
When feminist Gloria Steinem went under- 
cover as a Bunny at the New York club and 
wrote her famous exposé in the May and 
June 1963 issues of Show, she was attempting 
to strike a blow for women's liberation апа 
against what she perceived to be the servi- 
tude of these poor young girls. She described 


leaving the club one evening, walking home, 
spotting a high-priced call girl in a car and 
admitting she felt like one herself. But thou- 
sands of women, including supermodel 
Lauren Hutton and Blondie vocalist Debo- 
rah Harry, aspired to be Bunnies—and not 
because they were self-loathing or masoch- 
istic or enthralled by male supremacy. One 
assumes it was because they liked the image 
of sexy liberation and because they realized 
that while they might be glorified waitresses, 
the operative word was glorified. Although 
they were not the distant, aloof goddesses 
of Ziegfeld, they were literally untouchable 
(anyone laying a hand on them would have 
been tossed out), and to make sure no one 
got the wrong idea, they were prohibited 
from dating customers—a rule Hefner later 
rescinded when the Bunnies demanded it. 
They may have served, but they knew they 
were the main attraction. They didn’t have 
to impress the guests, the guests tried to 
impress them. 

All of which may have contributed to the 
clubs’ demise. They flourished throughout 
the 1960s and into the 1970s, during the long 
transition from Eisenhower's buttoned-down 
America to Kennedy's unbuttoned one—they 
even helped facilitate that transition. By the 
time the clubs celebrated their 10th anniver- 
sary, in 1970, there had been 22.5 million 
keyholders and 4,000 Bunnies. The num- 
ber of clubs would eventually reach 24 in 
the United States and 10 internationally, 
including posh high-rise Playboy Hotels in 
Chicago and Miami. The empire would also 
include Hefner's own black DC-9 flying club 
and eight Playboy resorts, beginning with 
one in Jamaica and later, in 1968 and 1971 
respectively, massive lodges at Lake Geneva 
in Wisconsin and Great Gorge in New Jer- 
sey, testifying to how much the Playboy idea 
had leached into the larger culture. It was no 
longer a constellation of small, intime clubs for 
sophisticates. The Playboy Club had grown 
into a giant family-oriented enterprise that 
was not only like Disneyland, it was Disney- 
land. Lake Geneva even had supervised 
activities for children. Imagine! 

By the mid-1970s, however, the clubs had 
begun to wobble, and by the late 1970s many 
were closing. Those that remained were kept 
afloat largely through the gambling profits 
of the London club, but it eventually lost its 
gambling license in a dispute with the British 
government. The dominoes fell. Great Gorge 
would expire in 1982, Lake Geneva the same 
year—a year in which the clubs reported a 
$51 million loss. The last American club, in 
the bustling metropolis of Lansing, Michigan, 
closed its doors in 1988. Three years later the 
last international club shuttered in Manila. 

The conventional analysis for the clubs’ 
death was to blame the recrudescence of con- 
servatism in Reagan America that attempted 
to restigmatize sex and punish the libido. In 
this view the Playboy enterprise had become 
an anachronism of a livelier, better, more 
honest time but a time rapidly receding into 
history along with other trappings of Amer- 
ican cool. The truth may be more bizarre: 
Тһе Playboy Clubs vanished not because Rea- 
gan's version of America had triumphed but 
because Hefner's had. By revamping Ameri- 
can machismo and making sexuality cool, by 
emphasizing the intellectual blandishments 


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PLAYBOY 


112 


that underlay the sexual ones, by seeing sex 
not just as a primal activity but as part of a 
larger attitude toward life and happiness— 
and by seeing women not as toys but as equal 
members of the sexual community who had 
the same needs and rights as men—Hefner 
helped integrate sexuality into American life 
so that many of the things that had seemed 
secretive and scandalous when the clubs 
opened were now commonplace for most 
Americans. Sex was everywhere. 

It was that integration, that success in 
mainstreaming sexuality, that may have 
finally destroyed the clubs. The clubs were 
designed to be segregated from conformist 
America—separate from the square, conven- 
tional, anhedonistic America outside their 
doors. The place was special, a repository of 
cool. The people who visited were special, 
the acolytes of cool. When America took a 
more liberalized view of sex and the clubs’ 
sense of specialness disappeared, so neces- 
sarily did the clubs themselves. 

As for the Bunnies, they had been under 
assault throughout the 1970s not only from 
the prudes on the right but, as noted, from 
feminists like Steinem on the left who saw them 
as victims. But just as the right didn’t destroy 
the Playboy Club, feminism didn’t destroy 
the Bunny. On the contrary, the Bunny iron- 
ically may have been an early manifestation of 


feminism, making Steinem correct when she 
said, “All women are Bunnies, but it doesn’t 
have to be that way,” just not how she thought 
she was right. The Bunny pointed the way 
to sexual liberation, and while it didn’t have 
to be that way, most women, younger ones 
especially, were glad it was. The problem for 
the Playboy Clubs was when all women were 
Bunnies, there was no longer any reason to 
maintain a special hutch. 

The clubs and Bunnies have recently 
enjoyed a revival, after 20 years of dormancy, 
with the 2006 opening of the Playboy Club at 
the Palms Casino in Las Vegas and the prom- 
ise of more to come, but this is not an attempt 
to recapture the past so much as it is a differ- 
ent incarnation of American sophistication: 
grandiosity. While the original clubs were 
small and sleek, the new club is sophistica- 
tion on steroids, which may be the only way to 
compete in a country where cool has become 
a commodity. If so, the Playboy Clubs had a 
lot to do with that commodification—a lot to 
do with blowing cool sexuality across Amer- 
ica until almost the entire nation was chilled. 
Hefner created the clubs to give PLAYBOY a 
street address. Eventually, the address became 
America itself. That is the Playboy Club legacy, 
and 50 years on it is still a big one. 


ІТ WAS GREAT. 
THE 3D ELASSES MADE 


ITSEEM AS IF You 
ACTUALLY 
HAD AN ERECTION 


SLEEP 
(continued from page 54) 


dully, that they’re sharp. “We humans are 
good at comparing today to yesterday but 
not so good at remembering how we felt last 
week or last year,” says Dr. Thomas Balkin, 
chairman of the National Sleep Founda- 
tion. “So we forget how it feels to be fully 
alert.” In other words, millions of Ameri- 
cans are at risk of turning into the hourly 
wage slave: pessimistic, depressed without 
knowing why, reaching for drugs, liquor or 
sleeping pills because they’re sleepy as hell 
but used to it. 

At the cozy Research Center at WSU Spo- 
kane, sleep volunteers are paid to eat, read, 
play board games, watch DVDs and spend 
full nights in bed, hooked to instruments 
that record their vital signs and brain waves. 
In this calm setting most people settle into 
the same pattern, sleeping from eight to 
nine hours a night. That’s what the body 
wants. It fits historical levels: Before elec- 
tric lights remade the day, almost everyone 
slept nine to 10 hours a night. But who 
even gets eight hours of sleep today? Who 
gets seven? For many of us, the new normal 
is about six hours—sometimes five—which 
may be why ours is an age of new and dif- 
ferent sleep screwups. 


American doctors write more than 50 mil- 
lion sleeping pill prescriptions every year. 
About 12 million Americans have obstruc- 
tive sleep apnea, in which sleepers actually 
stop breathing for 10 to 30 seconds. They 
wake because they’re suffocating. Those 
with severe apnea semi-suffocate at least 
five times an hour, jarring themselves awake 
30 to 40 times a night, waking up frazzled. 
There are drugs for insomnia and apnea, 
but they can gum up your brain, leading 
to more trouble and stronger drugs. Lack 
of sleep haunted insomniac Michael Jack- 
son, who allegedly paid his private doctor to 
put him to sleep with propofol, a powerful 
anesthetic used to knock patients out dur- 
ing surgery. What Jackson experienced was 
oblivion, not sleep. He went into an induced 
coma, which lacked whatever mysterious 
benefits real sleep provides. He dwindled 
to 112 pounds and died at 50. 

Sleep can morph into still weirder shapes. 
Sleepwalking is as old as sleep, its cause still 
unclear. Sleep-eating wasn't recognized until 
1991. Recent years have seen countless more 
cases of refrigerator raids by otherwise nor- 
mal people who rise from bed in the middle 
of the night, sleepwalk to the fridge and eat 
like zombies. Some prepare full meals using 
blenders, toasters and microwaves. Others 
pig out on raw bacon, fistfuls of salt, ketchup 
in milk, dog food or nonfoods like Vaseline, 
shaving cream and buttered cigarettes. One 
possible cause of the uptick in sleep-eating 
is the use of the sleeping pill Ambien, which 
seems to trigger it in some people. But 
sleep-eating is nothing compared with some 
other sleep disorders. A 19-year-old "cat 
boy" didn't just dream he was a jungle cat— 
he sleep-prowled the house, growled, leapt 
on sofas and lifted a marble table with his 
teeth. His parents took him to a sleep lab, 


where scientists observed him sleeping. Sure 
enough, Cat Boy rose in the predawn hours, 
still sound asleep. He hissed, clamped his 
jaws on his mattress and dragged it around 
the lab. 

Another sleep disorder provides one of 
the best reasons yet for premarital sex. A 
young husband reported that his newlywed 
had a disturbing and mysterious predilec- 
tion: She would sit up in bed, still asleep, 
and slug him in the face. 

Then there's sleep sex. A young wife was 
raped by her husband, who climbed onto 
her in the middle of the night and pumped 
away like a robot. She knew he was asleep 
because he never stopped snoring. 

Some women are sexually shy by day but 
masturbate like porn stars in their sleep (see 
sexsomnia.org). And some straight men slide 
bi in their sleep, which is why you should 
think twice before crashing on a buddy's 
couch. "In some cases, a heterosexual per- 
son will attempt a homosexual act while 
sleeping," writes Dr. Carlos Schenck of the 
Minnesota Regional Sleep Disorders Center. 
“This is most frequently cited among friends 
who are sleeping at each other's houses." 

In the last circle of sleep hell, insomnia 
leads to madness and death. A rare disease 
called fatal insomnia begins with lack of 
sleep, then night sweats. Next come months 
of jumpy sleep and then, as the brain turns 
to a Swiss-cheesy sponge, total sleepless- 
ness. It's been called the worst disease in the 
world because sufferers know exactly what's 
happening until the bitter end. They're fully 
awake. 'The last stages result in exhaustion, 
hallucinations and loss of bladder control. 
In This Will Kill You, HP Newquist and Rich 
Maloof describe death by fatal insomnia. 
"Your body will twitch uncontrollably, and 
you will howl in pain as your body tries to 
find relief from its inability to sleep," they 
write. "Eventually you will become unable 
to speak, unable to walk and will fall into а 
coma. Death will happen very suddenly, but 
not suddenly enough." 


Warriors have always regarded sleeping as 
a weakness. Odysseus stabbed the Cyclops 
in the eye while the giant slept. He and his 
men slipped out of the Trojan horse while the 
city of Troy slept. Three thousand years later 
American GIs were given amphetamines dur- 
ing World War II—drugs that "cured" the 
need for sleep, keeping them up for combat. 
America's enemies ate speed as well. Many 
of Japan's kamikaze pilots were flying on 
methamphetamines when they crashed their 
planes into U.S. ships, and Nazis ate primitive 
crank. By the end of the war Hitler's doctor 
was giving der Führer injections of meth every 
day, topped off with cocaine eyedrops. 
Speed freaks from Hitler to Elvis have 
explored the dark frontier where wired wake- 
fulness borders on madness. It killed them 
but not necessarily because they were on the 
wrong track, pharmaceutically speaking. 
Maybe they were just ahead of their time. 
The quest to beat sleep ramps up every 
year. According to a Pentagon report, an 
army that needs only two hours of sleep a 
night would be unbeatable. To fight such 
a force, an enemy would need 40 percent 
more troops. That's why military planners 


fell in love with modafinil, a drug that 
helped the French Foreign Legion stay 
awake and alert for up to 40 hours during 
the first Gulf War in 1991. But modafinil's 
no meth. It's milder, more like coffee, with. 
side effects (nausea, vertigo) you don't want 
if you're flying a plane. Today's U.S. pilots 
still pop old-fashioned forms of speed like 
Dexedrine, which have their own downsides. 
When two F-16 pilots fired at Canadian sol- 
diers in Afghanistan, their lawyers claimed 
government-issued Dexedrine may have 
clouded their judgment. 

More recently, the Pentagon's Defense 
Advanced Research Projects Agency funded 
tests on ampakines, a newer class of chemi- 
cals. In one test, "sleep-deprived monkeys 
that had been administered ampakines... 
restored performance to levels compara- 
ble to or better than those for well-rested 
monkeys without ampakine treatment." 
However, ampakines are not yet considered 
a viable option for humans. 

And the madness continues. One Harvard 
study examined the performance of closely 
monitored medical interns and found that 
on extended work shifts (24 hours or more), 
they made 36 percent more medical errors 
than when they were fresh. Fatigue had crip- 
pled their brains. Those bumbling interns 
were like the soldiers in a study conducted 
by the British military: After one night of 
limited or no sleep, the soldiers performed 
their duties easily. After two they got jumpy. 
Eventually they looked out into the dark 
and had visions of "little men, little animals, 
beds, lawn chairs and carnival props." One 
sentry saw sheep and thought they were 
polar bears. 

"But then there's adrenaline,” says a sol- 
dier who fought in Afghanistan. "Nobody 
nods off in a firefight." True—nobody falls 
asleep returning Taliban fire, defusing an 
IED or landing a plane on an aircraft car- 
rier. But the adrenaline that briefly erases 
fatigue doesn't last long and may not help 
as much the next time. A stark example of 
adrenaline's limits came during World War 
II when Allied troops parachuted into battle 
over Normandy on D-day. Some had barely 
slept in past days, but they were terrified 
and ultra-awake. Floating down past enemy 
trenches, adrenaline pumping as the Ger- 
mans shot at them and killed some of their 
buddies, the paratroopers landed behind 
German lines and promptly fell asleep. They 
were still in mortal danger, but the immedi- 
ate peril was past and the sleep imperative 
took over. More alert paratroopers ran for 
cover, but others were so deeply asleep they 
couldn't be roused even when under fire. 

Today's military leaders know sleep is 
vital to soldiers’ performance. For decades 
the U.S. Army's combat manuals recom- 
mended four hours of sleep per 24. Soldiers 
in battle often stayed awake for 48 hours 
or more, a prescription for disaster. But 
according to the latest manual, "soldiers 
require seven to eight hours of good qual- 
ity sleep every 24-hour period.... Sleep 
should be viewed as being as critical as any 
logistical item of resupply, such as water, 
food, fuel and ammunition." Meanwhile, 
war-science researchers keep hunting for 
ways to limit or erase the need for sleep. In 
tests, British scientists have reset soldiers’ 


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PLAYBO!Y 


body clocks with high-tech glasses that fire 
bright white light—the same spectrum as 
a sunrise—around their retinas. American 
pilots who wore the specs during bombing 
runs over Kosovo worked without sleep for 
up to 36 hours. Researchers think drugs will 
help win future wars. "They'll be part of the 
armamentarium," says one expert, pictur- 
inga generation of soldiers who never yawn, 
dream or waver from duty. 

For now the sleepy warrior's number one 
ally is plain old caffeine. 

Many Army Rangers and Navy SEALs 
(as well as pro football and baseball play- 
ers) eat coffee crystals for a quick boost. The 
coffee may be instant, but the boost isn't, 
since coffee hits the stomach first. There's 
a better caffeine-delivery system: Stay Alert 
gum, developed by Wrigley and tested at the 
Walter Reed Army Institute of Research. It 
reaches the body faster by being absorbed 
through the tissues in your mouth rather 
than your gut. (It also beats Red Bull or 
any other energy drink, unless you're try- 
ing to energize your stomach acids.) Stay 
Alert gum, sold at military bases and online, 
delivers 100 milligrams of caffeine per piece, 
roughly the same as in a cup of coffee. Two 
pieces every two hours can get you through 
sentry duty—or an exam cram or a 1,000- 
mile drive—awake and alert. 


During non-REM sleep, which accounts for 
about 75 percent of sleep, the brain shifts 
down like an idling car. But during REM 
cycles, which add up to about two hours a 
night, the brain lights up. Behind closed lids 
our eyes move as if we were awake. Fortu- 
nately for our bed partners, one part of the 
brain, the locus coeruleus, paralyzes most 
muscles during REM. That's why we don't 
act out our dreams. (Sleeping cats with that 
bit destroyed chase dream mice that aren't 
there.) In effect, the dreaming brain spends 
two hours revving its engines while the body 
is out of gear. Why? 

British scientist Jim Horne compares 
REM sleep to a computer in screen-saver 
mode. It seems cell repair gets done during 
non-REM, memory filing during REM. This 
notion has gained support from sleep exper- 
iments. We're more alert when wakened 
from REM—ready to react to danger. (The 
best way to wake someone? Repeat his name. 
We're wired to snap to attention when we 
hear our names.) However, though subjects 
get stressed and fatigued when deprived of 
non-REM sleep, they seem to do fine when 
deprived of REM, in the strictest sense of 
survival. Maybe we don't need it. 

Recent studies suggest that REM and 
dreaming are crucial at one stage of life: 
when you're a fetus. REM sleep has been 
observed as occurring in human fetuses, 
though it's hard to imagine what they're 
dreaming. It's possible that such dreams 
provide stimulation (images, sensations, 
even emotions) before birth, while the 
brain makes its first connections. Such pre- 
wiring would give infants a head start at 
birth. The idea that dreams are practice 
for life—the original virtual reality makes 
evolutionary sense and matches a remark- 
able fact from the animal world. In animals 


114 REM sleep correlates to how immature or 


"unfinished" the offspring are at birth. Por- 
poises have to swim and dodge sharks from 
the moment of birth, so they're born rather 
mature and do almost no REM sleeping. 
Platypuses, born tiny, blind and defense- 
less, get about eight hours of REM a day. 
Humans fall between the two, toward the 
dreamier end of the scale. 

If the pre-wiring theory is right, dreaming 
may be a relic of fetal development. Use- 
less in adults, like men's nipples, it survives 
because evolution weeds out only stuff that 
affects reproduction. REM doesn't do that. 
In fact, for unknown reasons it's the sexiest 
kind of sleep. 

For most men, the first and last intense 
sexual experiences in life occur during sleep. 
А boy's first wet dream comes long before 
he has real sex. An elderly man for whom 
masturbation is a form of nostalgia has a 
last heroic hump in his dreams. According 
to Plato, who fretted about his own dirty 
dreams, the dreaming man "acts as if he 
were totally lacking in moral principle." Sex 
researchers have shown that men get erec- 
tions and women experience clitoral swelling 
during REM, even when their dreams aren't 
sexual. In studies, technicians fit a set of rub- 
ber rings around the penises of male subjects. 


One woman who had 
recurring mightmares of 
being eaten by sharks trained 
herself to turn the sharks 
into dolphins that carried her 
to the surface. 


Each ring is attached to a wire leading to a 
stylus that graphs tumescence. It turns out 
the sleeping penis doesn’t lie—in fact, such 
tests can distinguish medical impotence from. 
the psychic kind. Medically disabled penises 
stay limp even during sex dreams, but for 
the majority of patients who can't perform 
when awake because they're conflicted about 
sex or can't stand their wives, erections rise 
and fall with REM sleep. 


It happens to all of us: You're hanging 
upside down from a rope strung across the 
Grand Canyon. The rope breaks; you'll die 
unless you grab the giant bat flying by, апа 
you think, This is a dream. It’s called a lucid 
dream, and lucid dreaming is no fantasy. 
“We proved it in our lab,” says Dement. 
He and his Stanford colleagues instructed 
experimental subjects to try to take action 
during their dreams. So, say they were 
dreaming about driving down a road with 
telephone poles on both sides. They were 
told to look at the poles to the left and right 
acertain number of times. Sure enough, the 
subjects’ eyes went left-right-left-right during 
REM. Newer studies suggest we can shape 
the content of our dreams. It takes prac- 
tice, but if dreams are “movies the brain 


shows itself,” as one expert claims, future 
dreamers may have the chance to direct. 
One woman who had recurring nightmares 
of being eaten by sharks trained herself to 
turn the sharks into dolphins that carried 
her to the surface. “I woke up so happy!” 
she reported. 

Men may employ different strokes. By 
2030 you might be able to train your- 
self to have particular sex dreams. If that 
means virtual sex with the Playmate of your 
dreams, would you do it? If so, should she 
get 99 cents, the price of an iTune? And 
what if your wife found out? This could 
open new realms of intellectual-property 
and divorce law. 

То Dr. Gregory Belenky of WSU Spo- 
kane, sleep is life's fundamental mystery. 
Even cutting-edge researchers like Belenky 
can't say why or how staying awake makes us 
drowsy, irritable and lousy at otherwise easy 
tasks and eventually maddens or kills us. 

Тһе answers must be coded in our genes. 
Molecular genetics is likely to crack the code 
in the next 20 years, a process that's already 
under way. While most of us need at least 
seven hours of sleep a night to function at 
top efficiency, there are outliers—maybe one 
person in 20—who need only three or four. 
Some of these “short sleepers” share a gene 
that was identified just last year. 


For now, though, the rest of us probably 
need more time in the sack. In a yet-to-be- 
published study Dement brought members 
of Stanford’s basketball team into his lab. 
They went through the usual sleep-lab 
program, lying in bed for as long as they 
liked. It was almost always more than they 
were used to getting. “We eliminated their 
sleep debt,” Dement says. Then the Cardi- 
nal hoopsters went back to Maples Pavilion. 
“They ran their standard timed sprint, and 
we kept seeing personal bests. Even their 
three-point shooting improved.” 

Last year some NBA teams ditched morn- 
ing shoot-arounds so their players could 
sleep in. The Celtics joined them after coach 
Doc Rivers met with Harvard’s Dr. Charles 
Czeisler, known in the league as the Sleep 
Doctor. "If you go three, four, five days in а 
row with less than six hours of sleep, your 
reaction time is comparable to that of some- 
one legally drunk,” Rivers told The New York 
Times. "You're trying to play a game where 
just a tenth of a second throws your whole 
game off.” 

For most of us, the game is real life. It hap- 
pens every day, from the battlefield to the 
police beat. You get more sleep, you remem- 
ber how it feels to be fully alert. You step 
back into Vila’s deadly-force simulator. 

A messy kitchen. A white male, 30ish, 
no shirt. 

You announce yourself: “Police!” 

He shows you his hands, empty. "What's 
the problem?” He starts to put his hands 
behind him as though he expects you to 
cuff him. But one hand’s palm-forward, as 
if he’s reaching for— 

—the pistol in his belt, yelling as you shoot 
him, yelling, “TU kill à 

In your dreams, tough guy. 


STEPHEN MOYER 


(continued from page 50) 
implicitly that there's never anything hurt- 
ful; it always comes from a loving place. It's 
not as though people I've been with before 
haven't been loving, but with Anna it's just 
about pure trust, on camera and off. I have 
never trusted anybody like I trust Anna. 


03 

PLAYBOY: Before you two went public with 
your relationship, many critics, bloggers 
and online fans commented on your on- 
screen chemistry. When did you realize the 
chemistry wasn't merely on camera? 
MOYER: During the show's first season I had 
to go back to London and she went back 
to New York. I wish I had bought shares 
in Skype, because 
we Skyped every 
night for three or 
four hours. It felt as 
though part of me 
had been removed 
when Anna and I 
were apart. 


PLAYBOY: Anna 
recently declared her 
bisexuality in a public 
service announce- 
ment for gay rights. 
Were you taken by 
surprise? 

MOYER: I've never 
been in a relation- 
ship before in which, 
literally within the 
first three days, all 
the cards were laid 
out. I knew who she 
was when I met her; 
she knows everything 
about me as well. It 
wasn't something that 
was kept from me. I 
condone what she has 
done 100 percent, 
and it's her busi- 
ness to talk about it, 
not mine. We talked 
about it in quite a lot 
of detail. It doesn't 
change anything. I'm 
proud of who she is. 


05 

PLAYBOY: What have been some of the more 
interesting responses you've gotten since the 
news aired? 

MOYER: [Laughs] I love the idea that some 
people think, So that must mean she's look- 
ing for somebody else, or Wow, he must be so 
excited to have somebody else to play with. 
Or that some might say our relationship 
is a sham or that she made the announce- 
ment for publicity. I honestly don't know 
what's being said because I haven't looked 
at a single website. I don't like to look at the 
Internet anyway, because I'm generally self- 
loathing and melancholic. When the news 
broke, we had just moved into a new house 
three days prior. I've been far too busy with. 
day-to-day decisions such as whether to get 


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real turf or Astroturf. Astroturf has come a 
long way—that's all I'm going to say. 


)6 

PLAYBOY: With so many recent revela- 
tions about infidelity and sex addiction 
among famous people, should we rethink 
monogamy? 

MOYER: I'm not going to speak for or judge 
anybody else. I'm just trying to keep my side 
ofthe street as unbumpy as possible. I found 
the person I want to spend my life with, and 
Гуе been looking in a lot of places. She's 
everything and more than I ever thought 
I would get. 


07 
PLAYBOY: At the end of last season's True 
Blood, your character and Paquin's charac- 


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ter are taken away from each other. What's 
in store for this season? 

MOYER: I don't want to give anything away in 
case I get in trouble for it, but last season loads 
of stuff happened with the whole town being 
under threat. The stakes are higher this year 
because everything that happens is about the 
Characters, and every single character has to 
react to situations that are very personal. It 
has created a muscular, more visceral storytell- 
ing mode that should be exciting to watch. 


08 
PLAYBOY: When it comes to diverse sexual 
couplings and sensuality, the series is way 
more provocative and graphic than most 
current feature films. Have you ever caught 
the makers of the series pulling their sex- 
ual punches? 


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MOYER: Last season had one quite graphic 
moment when my character would have had 
his head between Anna's character's legs. It 
was scrapped because of technical difficulty 
getting the shot with the number of camera 
setups they had planned—as opposed to 
because it was too graphic. Sex on our show 
is like a big muffin that's heating up, over- 
flowing and expanding in an oven. This time 
last year I was thinking, What the fuck are we 
going to do next year to top this? Well, I can 
tell you it's weird and exciting this year. As I 
said, the show is more character-centered— 
and I'm not saying it's better or worse for 
it—but there's certainly just as much, if not 
more, interesting sex because of it. 


Q9 

PLAYBOY: People should never mistake an 
actor for the char- 
acter he plays, but 
you were cast as a 
tormented guy strug- 
gling to reform from 
his past. Any real-life 
parallels? 

MOYER: Гуе lived. I've 
done a fair amount. 
I'm awfully glad the 
opportunities I've 
had in the past few 
years didn't come 
along 10, 15 or even 
five years ago, when 
I was much less pre- 
pared for them. 


Q10 
PLAYBOY: Has the show 
made you think more 
about thorny subjects 
such as, say, death 
and the afterlife? 
MOYER: I have no 
faith per se. I used 
to have a very black- 
and-white approach 
to it, but a few years 
ago I decided to 
make a simple change 
from being a staunch 
nonbeliever to just 
stopping not believ- 
ing. It’s as simple as 
that. The answer is I 
still don’t know what 
I think. My opinion 
can bend in the wind with all the other 
great questions out there. 


011 

PLAYBOY: When did you begin thinking seri- 
ously about acting? 
MOYER: Early on I remember wanting to go 
to a specific sports college even though I 
didn't know what the bloody hell I was going 
to do there. But I was doing plays from the 
age of 10, and by 14 I thought acting would 
be a great career. When I told my parents, 
they said, "Finish high school, then we'll 
think about it." I went to my school career 
advisor, but no one had ever talked with. 
him about a career in acting. There was no 
Internet then; I had to go and find out what 
drama school was and then go do it. 

(concluded on page 118) 


©2010 Playboy 


115 


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Zavaleta. Enter HDNet’s Get Out!, a travel show filmed completely in HD with Cara in 
charge of the idyllic proceedings. “I’ve been given the opportunity to be myself on camera 

е while visiting amazing places like the Baha- 
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every Thursday at eight р.м. Eastern time. 


2 
— : 7.//) VANESSA GLEASON, AZTEC GODDESS ШЕЯ 
` 
\ 


чы 4 ; ۵ Bight years ago Miss September 1998 Vanessa TS 
P is x S +» Gleason was walking around Knott's Berry Fifty-five years 
7 bot s H pne es 8 ago this month 
N Farm a bit lost in life. That's when she stum- = 


we wrote the fol- 
lowing classic 
copy: “We found 
Miss July in our 
own circula- 
tion department, 
processing 


Trails and its Aztec dancers—a moment 
that proved life 
altering. “The danc- 
ers were honoring 
the earth and our 


Р N > bled upon the California theme park's Indian 


ancestors," she says. subscriptions, 
“Tt was an over- s mu renewals and back 
whelming spiritual / copy orders." Her 

isplay." Afterward, name, of course, is 
Vanessa immersed қ Janet Pilgrim. She 


herself in the study so mesmerized 
of traditional Aztec M us that we made 
ance. She also be- her a Playmate 
gan living more 4 three times (July 
simply—à la the 1955, December 
Aztecs. “1 finally feel а - d 1955 and Octo- 
centered,” she says. ber 1956). 

Recently, the whole 
experience came full 


circle when she was Wantto SEE MORE PLAYMATES—or more 
asked to join an Az- of these Playmates? Check out the Club at club 
tec dancing troupe .playboy.com (includes a mobile-optimized version 
at—where else?— for your phone) or at twitter.com/playboy. 

Knott's Berry Farm. 


DID VOU Miss February 1990 PMOY 2008 is featured Miss December 2009 
made it five rounds before being elimi- prominently on the final season of signed a record deal with MCA Univer- 
KNOW nated from Dancing With the Stars. MTV's The Hills. sal. Her first single is due this summer. 


What is Miss June 
2009 

's type? 

“Тһе perfect man 

would look like 

Eminem and love 

like Steve Urkel,” 

she says. 


LAE Beauty 


MY FAVORITE PLAYMATE 


“There were a slew of Center- 
folds from the 1970s I ogled 
as a teen—for example, Mari- 
lyn Cole and Debra Jo Fondren. (My father 
had a hidden stash of PLAYBOYs.) But one in 
particular struck me: PMOY 1971 Sharon 
Clark. She epitomized the sexy, slender girl 
next door. There was nothing pneumatic 
or plastic about her. I also thought it was 
wild that рі.лүвоу had full- 
page cartoons. I thought, 
Wow, sex and 
comics! 
Cool!” 


d her sister, 
le, Florida- 


aking their clients feel beautiful on 


both the insid 


ebook. com 
ywpt) isn't most computer poker 
games. When you sit at its virtual table, 
ay 2006 Alison Waite serves as 

your gorgeous official hostess. 


Miss February 1986 Julie McCullough 
and other friends of Corey Haim recently 
held a dinner іп the actor's memory. 


When we select a Playmate of the Year we expect 
her to uphold our ideals, represent the Bunny at 
public functions and, well, be a knockout. 


2" 


—this year's 
unanimous choice for 
Playmate of the Year (per our 
readers, editors and Hef)— 
meets these qualifications 
in spades. For instance, take 
the reaction she inspired at 
the sixth annual K-Swiss 
Desert Smash in La Quinta, 
California. There, she and 
film and television star 
Christian Slater created a 
paparazzi feeding frenzy 
when they walked the event's red carpet... Miss 
January 1987 helped рілүвоү cover 
model Cindy Margolis celebrate 
the finale of the first season of 
her Fox Reality Channel dating 
series, Seducing Cindy... Televi- 
sion viewers on the West Coast 
didn't need their morning coffee 
to get their hearts racing when 
Miss February 2010 

modeled Trashy lin- 
gerie on Good Day L.A. That's 
exactly why our doctors sug- 
gest we switch to decaf when 
we work with Centerfolds anytime before noon.... 
Miss September 1986 's latest 
message about AIDS awareness, which is currently 
splashed across 10 giant billboards throughout Los 
Angeles, has just about 
every driver in southern 
California craning their 
necks. (The HIV-positive 
Centerfold has long led 
a noble and inspirational 
campaign to educate 
the public about AIDS.) 
“None of what I do will 
erase the fact that I 
have infected blood and am different,” 
she says. “Knowing how beautifully different I am 
helps outweigh that fact." 


— 
JUI sur Saved my Life 
к \ HIVcare.org 


rr 


9:29 55% 


— —v—- — — un 


Much to our surprise, PM OY 1994 Jenny 
McCarthy and longtime companion Jim DID VOU 
Carrey broke up in the spring. KNOW п 


PLAYBOY 


118 


STEPHEN MOYER 


(continued from page 115) 

012 
PLAYBOY: When did you most put your fam- 
ily through the wringer? 
MOYER: When I was 13 and my mum and dad 
would be out for the evening, I'd take out 
their car, pick up my best friend and go rac- 
ing around. For my 15th birthday I was given 
the opportunity to drive at a racetrack, and 
before I could drive legally, I bought a Mini 
and put racing stuff all over it. Then three 
weeks after passing my driving test I got a 
DUI and lost my license for a year. 


013 
PLAYBOY: We assume girls had already come 
into the picture before your racing career. How 
young were you when you lost your virginity? 
MOYER: I was quite young when I started 
doing all right, below legal age and with. 
somebody I knew well. It happened outdoors 
and was very naughty and unexpected. In 
my little village some girls reached maturity 
at a young age, and there was a lot of “you 
show me yours and ГЇЇ show you mine" stuff 
happening, lots of looking and a little bit of 
touching too, from a very young age. 


014 
PLAYBOY: Did that give you confidence with 
women? 


MOYER: I didn't even know how to chat any- 
body up or ask anybody out. I didn't have that 
kind of self-esteem. I can think of few things 
more visceral or heart pounding than to get 
that adrenaline rush and finally work up the 
courage to ask someone out—at any age. Once 
I got through those initial moments of self- 
paralysis I was fine. I was lucky to always be 
guided by older girls at school. But apart from 
my current missus, as I call her, I went out with 
older women all the way up until I was 30. 


Q15 
PLAYBOY: Did you eventually develop any 
pickup lines or smooth moves? 

MOYER: My state of melancholia was so great 
I used to write crap poetry for years and 
years. I sometimes wouldn't even go over to 
talk to somebody. That way I knew I would 
end up with a better poem. 


016 
PLAYBOY: Most Americans discovered you 
when True Blood first aired, but from 1993 
through the end of that decade you played 
on many British TV series and in some 
lesser-known movies. Has all the American 
attention felt like starting over again? 

MOYER: Гуе never had the Hollywood dream. 
Ijust wanted to be an actor. I worked at bars 
while I was in drama school, but luckily I've 
been acting for nearly 20 years and have 
never been unemployed for more than five 


"You ain't kidding. Ill take it." 


or six months. When True Blood came along, 
Ihad returned to London to take a chill after 
four back-to-back gigs that had taken me 
away from home for four and a half months. 
Itold my manager, "Don't send me any more 
scripts. I'm not interested." She said, "Read 
just this one for me,” and three days later I 
was sitting in [series creator] Alan Ball's office 
with Anna, talking about True Blood. 


017 
PLAYBOY: What are some of the more bizarre 
responses you've gotten from fans? 
MOYER: I think it's pretty well documented. 
that I'm English, not Southern, yet I’m always 
amazed to meet people who go, “Оһ my God! 
Oh my God! Where are you from?" As many 
times as I get people coming up to me and 
asking, “Say ‘Sookie’ like you do to Anna on 
the show," I'm sure Vivien Leigh spent the 
rest of her life being asked to say "Fiddle-dee- 
dee" the way she did in Gone With the Wind. 


Q18 
PLAYBOY: Fans and the press seem fascinated 
by the prosthetic fangs you wear on the 
show. When you put them in your mouth, 
how do you know where they've last been? 
MOYER: [Laughs] I have a set at home and about 
three more sets at work. They're insured, and 
they get locked up every night but not before 
a lovely assistant readies a cup of Listermint 
they go into. They get a little scrub, and then. 
they get put back into a wallet. 


019 
PLAYBOY: Your TV show delivers scares along 
with sex, dark comedy and social commen- 
tary. What scares you? 
MOYER: Something happening to my daugh- 
ter or son, who are eight and 10, respectively. 
Тһе first time I had my picture taken with 
my daughter was after we'd gone to get 
pizza, and 20 paparazzi were running back- 
ward with their cameras. My initial impulse 
was to drop the pizza and fucking smash 
those cameras. I'd never felt that before. My 
daughter hasn't chosen to do what I do for 
aliving. Those guys are just doing their job, 
and if they're taking pictures of Anna and 
me, then somebody's watching the show. I've 
got nothing to hide. I'm very happy in my 
life. I don't go to big parties. I'm out there 
every morning picking up my dog's shit, so 
if they want to take that shot, fine. 


20 
PLAYBOY: In a -€-— royal between the Twi- 
light movies' vampires and True Blood's, who 
would come out on top? 
MOYER: That's like comparing Monterey Jack 
and Roquefort. If my eight-year-old daughter 
comes to me when she's 13 and says, "Dad, 
what would you rather I got into, Twilight or 
Black Sabbath?" Га be stuck between the two 
but would probably pull for Twilight. I love Black 
Sabbath, but that can wait until my daughter 
turns 16. The Twilight movies fill a niche. In 
her Twilight novels Stephenie Meyer has cho- 
sen a similar vampire framework to tell a story 
about burgeoning sexuality. What's interesting 
about our show is that sexuality has already 
burgeoned. I wish Twilight the best of luck, but 
I'm very happy to be doing True Blood. 


Make someone happy with 
a Gift Subscription to 


PLAYBOY 


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СЕТ 2 FREE GIFTS 
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PLAYBOY FORUM 
TOUGH IS DUMB 


LOCKING UP CRIMINALS MEANS MORE PRISONS, NOT LESS CRIME 
BY MARK A.R. KLEIMAN 


ne in 100 adult 

Americans is 

behind bars. 
We lock up five times 
as many people as we 
did in any year before 
1975 and five times as 
many as any country 
to which we'd like to 
be compared. An Afri- 
can American male 
who doesn't finish high 
school has a better than 
even chance of doing 
prison time before he 
turns 30. These are not 
facts to be proud of in 
the land of the free. 

Neither is our homi- 
cide rate, which is 
also about five times 
that of the rest of the 
developed world. Yes, 
crime has significantly 
decreased over the 
past 15 
still at t 
of the early 1960s, 
despite all the prison- 
ers and all the effort 
Americans put into not 
being victimized. 

When it comes to 
crime, we're already 
plenty tough. Maybe 
it's time to get smart: to look for policies that could give us 
fewer prisoners and fewer crimes. We can achieve this if 
we learn to punish more intelligently. That means getting 
more selective about who gets locked up and doing a better 
job of supervising offenders when they're on probation or 
parole or out on bail or other pretrial release. 

Most people behind bars aren't very dangerous. The most 
criminally active 10 percent of prisoners committed more 
than 50 percent of the offenses of the group as a whole. 
Some offenders are a complete waste of prison space: the 
low-level drug dealers whose incarceration merely makes 
room for new dealers on the street, the senior citizens still 
doing time for a single act of violence committed at the age 
of 18 or the probation and parole violators who could have 
been maintained safely in the community. 

Right now probation features long lists of rules without 
much capacity to monitor whether offenders are abid- 
ing by them. Even if an offender is caught breaking those 
rules—for example, by using illicit drugs—the most likely 
consequence is a warning. That's partly because probation 


officers' caseloads are so 
big that effective super- 
vision is impossible: A 
big-city probation offi- 
cer may have charge of 
180 felons, seeing each 
of them once a month. 
Reporting every viola- 
tion would take more 
hours than there are 
in a workweek. 

When a parole offi 
cer reports a violation 
to a judge, one of two 
responses is typical. 
The judge can revoke 
probation and send the 
offender to prison— 
though that seems 
a disproportionate 
response for missing 
an appointment or fail- 
ing a drug test. Or the 
judge can say "Don't 
do that again," in effect 
telling the offender 
that breaking the rules 
has no consequences. 
Eventually—and 
almost at random, 
from the probation- 
er's perspective—the 
judge decides the list 
of infractions has got- 
ten too long and sends 

the offender away. That system of random severity p: 
duces the worst of all possible worlds: high crime rates 
and mass incarceration. 

In Hawaii, Judge Steven Alm figured out how to do 
better. He took a group of stubborn meth-using pro- 
bationers and put them on random drug testing, with 
the promise that every missed or "dirty" test would lead 
to an immediate 48-hour spell behind bars. He made 
the threat so convincing that most stopped using right 
away. Of those who got caught, fewer than half broke 
the rules again. 

The program, called Hawaii's Opportunity Probation 
with Enforcement, or HOPE, reduces prison spending by 
saving four times as much as it costs to supervise ever! 
one and provide drug treatment. It cuts the number о: 
probationers arrested for new crimes by half and the num- 
ber sent to prison by two thirds. HOPE puts into practice 
principles known to anyone who has ever successfully 
raised a child, trained a puppy, coached a team or man- 
aged an office: have clear rules, give explicit warnings 


and impose predictable and immedi- 
ate consequences for bad behavior. If 
punishment is predictable and imme- 
diate, it doesn't have to be severe. 

Now imagine adding one more thing 
to HOPE: a GPS ankle monitor that 
sets off an alarm if removed. Then, for 
a few dollars a day, you could know 
where a probationer is 24-7. He won't 
get away with new crimes if his posi- 
tion record can be used to place him 
at the crime scene. You could enforce 
a curfew or restraining order. You 
could also ensure 
he shows up on 
time for work; 
that would make 
ex-cons much 
more employ- 
able. Think of 
it as outpatient 
incarceration: 
It would pro- 
vide most of the 
crime-control 
benefits of the 
brick-and-mortar 
version for less 
than 15 percent 
of the cost and with a much bet- 
ter chance of seeing the offender go 
straight rather than cycling in and out 
of prison. 

Can the HOPE process be made 
to work elsewhere? There's no 
reason to think heroin addicts in 
Baltimore or crackheads in Chicago 
would react differently from meth 
smokers in Honolulu. But until we 
try it we won't know whether other 
jurisdictions can achieve the relent- 
less, coordinated enforcement of 
probation and parole terms. The 
offender-management problem is 
straightforward compared with the 
public-management problem. 

We need to be as tough on crime as 
necessary—but no tougher. The goal 
is not to put as many people behind 
bars as possible but to make people 
safer. While it's not easy to single out 
the highly active criminals from the 
onetime petty offenders, prison cells 
ought to be for people we should be 
afraid of, not for people we're merely 
mad at. By getting smart we could cut 
crime in half over the next decade 
and also have half as many prisoners. 
Will we? It depends on whether vot- 
ers can be persuaded to prefer safety 
over revenge. 


Electronic ankle 
monitors: cheaper 
than the clink. 


Mark A.R. Kleiman is professor of public 
policy at UCLA and author of When Brute 
Force Fails: How to Have Less Crime and 


Less Punishment. 


FORUM 


KILLING MACHINE 


DID NEVADA'S INNOVATIVE 
GAS CHAMBER INSPIRE HITLER? 


BY SCOTT CHRISTIANSON 


n February 8, 1924, in a stone- 
Q and-concrete shack that for 40 

years had served as the Nevada 
state prison's barbershop, a Chinese 
immigrant and convicted killer named 
Gee Jon became the first person ever 
executed in a gas chamber. Inside the 
sealed room two wooden chairs with 
armrests had been positioned a few feet 
apart—Gee's accomplice had also been 
scheduled to die but received a commu- 
tation. In front of and between the chairs 
stood a small metal 
device that would 
spray hydrocyanic 
acid, commercially 
known as cyanogen. 
A state spokes- 
man insisted one 
deep breath by the 
condemned man 
would paralyze his 
lungs, displace the 
oxygen in his body 
and cause instant 
and painless death. 
Witnesses would 
be spared any pain- 
ful outcries. 

Prior to the exe- 
cution, the warden 
staged a rehearsal 
with a stray white 
cat and two kittens. 
He estimated the 
cats died within 15 
seconds. The test 
revealed a small 
leak, which was 
quickly patched to 
avert the poisoning of witnesses or staff. 

It appeared Gee needed about six 
minutes to die, though the gas cloud- 
ing the windows made it difficult to 
see inside. The warden pronounced 
the method "a wonderful and humane 
way of execution." Unlike hanging (by 
which an inmate might suffer for up to 
15 minutes), electrocution (which could 
take three or four jolts) or a firing squad 
(which sometimes didn't cause instant 
death), gas first produced unconscious- 
ness. The state's largest newspaper, the 
Nevada State Journal, began its cover- 
age by pronouncing, "Nevada's novel 
death law is upheld by the highest 
court—humanity." 


Eighteen days after Gee's death, in 
Munich, a right-wing radical named 
Adolf Hitler went on trial for his role in 
the failed Beer Hall Putsch. The previ- 
ous year U.S. newspapers had reported 
on Hitler's extraordinary ability to sway 
crowds and his deep hatred of Jews, 
Communists, Bolsheviks and liberals, 
as well as his embrace of the trappings 
of fascism that had been introduced in 
1922 by Italy's Benito Mussolini. 

One of Hitler's friends who visited 
him in jail and kept 
him abreast of devel- 
opments in the U.S. 
was Ernst "Putzi" 
Hanfstaengl, a six- 
foot-four German 
American patrician 
graduate of Harvard 
and descendent of a 
Union army gen- 
eral who had helped 
carry Abraham Lin- 
coln's coffin. When 
Hanfstaengl wasn't 
entertaining his 
friend with his 
piano playing, he 
stimulated Hitler's 
imagination with 
stirring accounts of 
skyscrapers, gang- 
sters and college 
football chants. He 
also translated and 
read aloud from 
British and U.S. 
newspapers. Hit- 
ler had been gassed 
and temporarily blinded while serving 
on the front during World War I, so he 
already knew gas was an ugly, painful 
and unpredictable weapon, and he dis- 
dained its use in battle. He would have 
been interested to learn about what the 
Americans had done in Nevada. 

After being convicted and receiving 
a five-year sentence, Hitler began com- 
posing his own political creed, which 
he first titled Eine Abrechnung (Settling 
Accounts) but later changed to Mein 
Kampf (My Struggle). He wrote, "If at 
the beginning of the war and during 
the war, 12 ог 15,000 of these Hebrew 
corrupters of the people had been 
held under poison gas, as happened to 


undreds of thousands of our very best 
German workers in the field, the sacri- 
fice of millions at the front would not 
have been in vain." Decades later Lucy 


FORUM 


of blacks and Jim Crow laws enforcing 
racial segregation, about the shipment 
of Native Americans to faraway prisons 
via boxcars and recent court rulings 


National Origins Act, which called for 
eugenic quotas." 

Historians have not yet turned up 
direct evidence that Hitler's thinking was 


Dawidowicz, a historian 
of the Holocaust, wrote, 
"Did the idea of the final 
solution originate in this 
passage, germinating in 
Hitler's subconscious for 
some 15 years before it 
was to sprout into practi- 
cal reality?" 

Another biographer 
observed, "Hitler's con- 
cept of concentration 
camps as well as the prac- 
ticality of genocide owed, 
so he claimed, to his stud- 
ies of English and U.S. 
history. He admired the 
camps for Boer prison- 
ers in South Africa and 
for the Indians in the 
Wild West, and he often 
praised to his inner circle 
the efficiency of Ameri- 
ca's extermination—by starvation and 
uneven combat—of the red savages who 
could not be tamed by captivity." Hitler 
learned about the American enslavement 


The Nevada gas chamber. 


upholding the involuntary sterilization 
of the unfit. Yet another historian noted 
that Mein Kampf displayed Hitler's "keen 
familiarity with the recently passed U.S. 


influenced by the first 
successful use of the gas 
chamber, but the event 
was in the headlines 
during his trial, impris- 
onment and the writing 
of Mein Kampf. At the 
same time, delegations 
of German officials, 
criminologists and legal 
scholars were touring 
the American penal sys- 
tem, inspecting prison 
conditions and methods 
of punishment. These 
visits were also widely 
reported in Germany 
and most certainly read 
by executives at certain 
chemical companies. 
After all, cyanide was 
their business. 


Scott Christianson is author of The Last 
Gasp: The Rise and Fall of the American 
Gas Chamber, published this month by the 
University of California Press. 


DOES THE FIRST AMENDMENT PROTECT LAST WORDS? 


hat is the question posed in a 2001 law review article by Kevin 

Francis O'Neill, who was the lead counsel in a suit filed by the 
ACLU to prevent Ohio wardens from removing "offensive" language 
from the final statements of condemned prisoners. O'Neill notes that 
the Anglo-Saxon tradition of last words dates back to at least 1388; 
even accused witches and slaves were given the opportunity. Today, 
some states allow last words to be uttered only out of earshot of 
witnesses, while Texas gives its condemned an open microphone. 
Here are memorable examples of inmates exercising their right to 
free speech one final time. For more, see Robert Elder's new book, 
Last Words of the Executed (University of Chicago Press). 


“You motherfuckers haven't paid any attention to anything I’ve said 
in the last 22 and a half years; why would anyone pay any attention 
to anything I’ve had to say now?"—Richard Cooey II (Ohio, 2008), 
when asked if he'd like to make a statement 


"Give my apologies to the families of the victims."—Arthur Bishop 
(Utah, 1988) 


“Let Mama know | still love her.“ Cornelius Singleton 
(Alabama, 1992) 


"Being born black was against me."—John Young 
(Georgia, 1985) 


"| am innocent of this crime."—Eugene Perry 
(Arkansas, 1997) 


“I forgive all who have taken part in any way in my 
death."—Ronald O'Bryan (Texas, 1984) 


“Тһе act | committed to put me here was not just 


heinous, it was senseless. But the person that committed that act 
is no longer here."—Napoleon Beazley (Texas, 2002) 


“I'd rather be fishing."—Jimmy Glass (Louisiana, 1987) 


Silently flipped off witnesses as gas billowed around him.—Donald 
Harding (Arizona, 1992) 


"| can't imagine losing two children. If | was y'all, | would have killed 
me.”—Dennis Dowthitt (Texas, 2001) 


"You are about to witness the damaging effect electricity has on 
Wood.“ Frederick Wood (New York, 1963) 


"Living has been hard, and now it's time to die."—Johnny Taylor Jr. 
(Louisiana, 1984) 


"Freedom at last, man."—John Rook (North Carolina, 1985) 


“You doing that right?"—Stanley “Tookie” Williams 
(California, 2005), founder of the Crips street gang, 
after a nurse took 10 minutes to insert the needle 


“Нштаһ for anarchy!"—the Haymarket defendants 
(Chicago, 1887), in unison 


"God, you're a dirty son of a bitch, because I'm 
innocent."—Robert Pierce (California, 1956) 


“I'm human! I'm human!"—David Lawson (North 
Carolina, 1994), screaming to be heard through the 
thick glass separating him from witnesses. Lawson 
had asked that his execution be televised. 


READER RESPONSE 


WHITE DEALERS 
Ishmael Reed may be right about the 
way The Wire "dumps all the country's 
drug transactions on the inner cities" 
(“The Wire Goes to College," May), but 
he is wrong on two matters of fact. First, 
he says he spoke with show creator David 
Simon in 1997 about the series, but The 
Wire didn't debut until 2002. Reed is a 
prescient writer, but he's not that pre- 


Bryan Cranston, the star of Breaking Bad. 


scient. Second, Reed claims there is “по 
white version of The Wire." Has he seen 
Breaking Bad? The morally conflicted and 
far from sympathetic chief meth cook 
and his protégé both look white to me. 

Paul Kibble 

Bellflower, California 

Reed spoke to Simon in 1997 about 

The Corner: A Year in the Life of 
an Inner-City Neighborhood, a book 
Simon had co-written with Edward 
Burns. You can listen at democracy 
nou.org/1997/11/6. 


I have not seen The Wire, but I have 
seen Weeds, a show that depicts an aver- 
age white family distributing drugs. 
John Davoust 

Long Beach, California 


Reed claims I "must be one cloistered 
individual to assert that Simon's depiction 
of urban life provides a better understand- 
ing of that culture than anything written 
by a sociologist." I was not referring to 
"culture" but to systemic urban inequality. 
Unlike Reed and his myopic view of The 
Wire, 1 feel the show undermines the ste- 
reotypes he highlights. More specifically, 
because of the show's scrupulous exami- 
nation of the inner workings of the police, 
drug-dealing gangs, politicians, unions, 
public schools and print media, viewers see 
how the decisions and behavior of inner- 
city residents are often severely shaped 


and limited by forces beyond their con- 
trol. The Wire, as an artistic production, 
provides an excellent basis for analyzing 
the complexities of urban inequality. In a 
course on The Wire to be offered this fall 
at Harvard, we hope to use the series to 
enhance students' understanding of why 
some Americans are given every conceiv- 
able opportunity while others never have 
a chance to reach their potential. 
William Julius Wilson 
Cambridge, Massachusetts 
Wilson, a professor of sociology at Har- 
vard, is author of More Than Just Race: 
Being Black and Poor in the Inner City. 


NAKED AT THE AIRPORT 

Chip Rowe admits that full-body scan- 
ners "won't save us" ("Invasion of the 
Body Scanners," May), but his only 
response to privacy concerns raised by 
religious leaders, transgender activists 
and privacy advocates is “So what?" In 
March the Government Accountability 
Office reported that tests indicate it is 
“unclear” whether body scanners could 
have detected the underpants bomb used 
in the attempted Christmas attack, yet the 
federal government still plans to spend 
$3 billion on these ineffective and highly 
intrusive devices. Maybe you, like Rowe, 
don't mind getting naked for the sake 
of security theater. But that's not what 
this is about. This is about the govern- 
ment forcing your aunt Millie, who might 
have a colostomy bag and is terrified of 


Susan Hallowell of the TSA and her scan. 


being humiliated, to be seen naked for 
no security benefit and at great taxpayer 
expense. Even if you believe Americans 
have irrational sexual hang-ups, there's 
still something wrong with undressing 
people without their consent. 
Michael German 
Washington, D.C. 
German, a former FBI agent, is national 
security policy counsel for the ACLU. 


BIG GOVERNMENT 

Howard Zinn (“Where Are the Jobs?,” 
April), who died earlier this year, will be 
badly missed—now especially, because he 
always emphasized the importance of gov- 
ernment even as government was being 
disparaged. After 75 years of progressiv- 
ism, America slipped in the 1970s into 
an age of anti-government ideology that 
took wing on the ideas of economist Mil- 
ton Friedman. To Friedman, the creation 
and distribution of social services was no 
different from selling a Buick: It could 
be most efficiently handled by a market 


Milton Friedman: 


he market rules. 


of consumers. Like most demagoguery, 
Friedman's success, particularly with his 
book Capitalism and Freedom, is based on 
oversimplification. Retirement security, 
decent education, up-to-date roads and 
adequate health care are not Buicks. То 
Friedman, men and women who are free 
of government shackles have the innate 
capacity to do what they want. Most of 
the rest of us know that people develop 
capacities over time with the help of one 
another—that is, government. But let me 
quarrel with Zinn slightly. He falls into 
a trap when he says government sup- 
plies the needs of the middle class and 
the poor, as though it does what business 
can't do. But government is integral to 
modern prosperity. To suggest it has a 
restricted function is to play the game of 
the free-market ideologues. That's like 
saying a wife is an important partner in 
a marriage. Without a spouse, there is no 
marriage. Without a strong government, 
there is no economy. No rich nation today 
is without a big government. 
Jeff Madrick 
New York, New York 
Madrick, a business journalist, is author 
of The Case for Big Government. 


E-mail via the web at letters.playboy.com. 
Or write: 680 North Lake Shore Drive, 
Chicago, Illinois 60611. 


FORUM 


NEWSFRONT 


Switch Hitters 


SEATTLE— Three San Francisco men are suing 
the North American Gay Amateur Athletic 
Alliance for discrimination after being kicked 
out of the Gay Softball World Series for not 
being homosexual enough. Following a 
challenge from an Atlanta team, five play- 
ers were ushered into a conference room 
for an impromptu hearing where they were 
questioned about the objects of their carnal 
desires. A panel found the three players to 
be "nongay." (The other two were ruled gay.) 
Because a squad is allowed to have only 
two straight players, the alliance stripped 
the team of its second-place finish. One of 
the banned players said he was told, "This 
isn't the Bisexual World Series." 


The Power of Yes 


TORONTO— By a two-to-one vote, an appeals 
court overturned the conviction of a man 
accused of sexually assaulting his uncon- 
scious common-law wife, ruling she had 
consented before passing out. The couple 
enjoyed sadomasochistic sex and bond- 
age and had discussed trying anal sex to 


"spice up" their relationship. The woman 
apparently lost consciousness during an 
experiment with erotic asphyxiation and 
awoke to find herself on all fours with her 
hands bound and her husband penetrating 
her with a dildo. The government argued 
that a person must be conscious to consent, 
but the court noted it's possible to consent 
to surgery before being anesthetized. 


Confirmed: It's a Strip Club 


DALLAs—The University of North Texas has 
posted online 404 photos from the Dallas 
Police Department's files on the 1963 assas- 
sination of JFK, 
including two shots 
of a stripper at the 
Carousel Club, 
which was owned 
by Jack Ruby, 
the man who 
killed Lee Harvey 
Oswald. What the 
stripper had to do 
with the investi- 
gation isn't clear. 


Burt Joseph (1930-2010) 


Our favorite "bleeding-heart, knee-jerk First 
Amendment lawyer," as he described him- 
self, died in March. Joseph, who was 79 
and for many years executive director of 
the Playboy Foundation, understood that 
unpopular ideas are those most in need 
of legal protection. "It is the discontented, 
the misfits who really test your commit- 
ment to the values," he said. "D look at 
the personalities. Look at the principles." 
Joseph (shown at left with the outspo- 
ken Dr. Ruth Westheimer) got hooked on 
defending free speech in the early 1960s 
after representing a client charged with 
selling Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer. As 
a guiding force behind the Illinois branch 
of the American Civil Liberties Union, he 
pressed the group to come to the defense 
of neo-Nazis who in 1976 were denied 
a permit to march in Skokie, a Chicago 
suburb that was then home to thousands 
of Holocaust survivors. Joseph was also 
instrumental in founding the National Orga- 
nization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws 
and advised groups such as the Comic 
Book Legal Defense Fund. In 1997 he rep- 
resented the American Library Association 
and other plaintiffs that sued to overturn 
the federal Communications Decency Act, 
which made it illegal to show minors online 
material that was "indecent" or "patently 
offensive"—whatever that means. 


Hoffa to Remain M 


sing 

EAST RUTHERFORD, NEW JERSEY—The FBI 
says it will not search for the remains 
of Jimmy Hoffa under Giants Stadium, 
which is being torn down. Donald “Tony 


the Greek” Frankos told PLAvBov in 1989 
that the Teamsters leader, who disappeared 
in 1975, had been killed and buried under 
the west end zone during the stadium's 
construction. The site will be covered with 
13 feet of concrete and turned into a park- 
ing lot. “If he’s down there, he’s going to 
be down there deeper,” said an official with 
the demolition company doing the job. 


It has been 19 years since 
STEPHANIE SEYMOUR 
modeled for Sports Illus- 
trated, yet the 42-year-old 
still fills out a swimsuit like 
no other. In science news, 
while Newton's law of grav- 
ity has had no effect on her 
body, her top fell victim at a 
very opportune time. 


If you meet a woman who's gaga over Sex and the 
City 2, introduce yourself as Mr. Big and ask which 
character she identifies with. Here's a key to what 
her answer indicates she wants: Carrie (SARAH 
JESSICA PARKER), a date; Charlotte, marriage; 
Samantha, sex; and Miranda, sex with a woman. 


Oh, Canada! X 


Say what you want Ё 
about health care (in 
Forum), but we do 
covet a few things of 
our friendly neigh- 
bors to the north: 
Molson Canadian, 
Sidney Crosby, Mon- 
treal strip clubs, 
poutine and now 
ELLA ROSE. 


The Grammy- 
nominated 
TEENA MARIE 
first appeared on 
our radar with 
her 1988 hit “Ооо 
La La La," which 
the Fugees later 
interpolated into 
their "Fu-Gee- 
La. This is the 
second time she 
has piqued our 
interest. Talk 
about a high note 
for a onetime 
lover of Rick 

124 James. 


Y 


> Here's Czech Republic рглүвоү'5 Mi; 

| Мау 2007 VERONIKA ЕАЗТЕВОМА, | 
Her favorite band is Guns N' Roses, so 
she'll be stoked when The Spaghetti 
Incident? makes it there next year. 


5 
H 
Н 


Last August К.С. NEILL stripped naked to 
be photographed in New York's Metropoli- 
tan Museum of Art. She was charged with 
public lewdness in a place that displays 
1,000-year-old nudes. Huh? 


Awards 
Show 

KATE MOSS, 
underdressed at 
the British Fashion 
Awards, took the 
London 25 trophy 
for one who “em- 
bodies the spirit of 
London, an ambas- 
sador for the 
capital's fashion 
industry.” 


Essex Girl — 
TOMMIE JO is from Essex, England, though she 
no bimbo. (Inthe U.K., blonde jokes are "Essex girl” 

For example: How do you know if an Essex 
having ап orgasm? She drops her chips.) 


SEXY MAD MEN SECRETARY CRISTA FLANAGAN. 


CORNEL У/Е5Т--ІМ THE PLAYBOY INTERVIEW THE PHILOSOPHER, 
SOCIAL CRITIC AND PRINCETON PROFESSOR TALKS WITH DAVID 
HOCHMAN ABOUT TIGER WOODS'S FUNK, HANGING OUT WITH 
PRINCE AND WHY OBAMA STOPPED RETURNING HIS CALLS. 


MAD МЕМ--5НЕ ТООК AN ILL-FATED SPIN ОМ A JOHN DEERE 
MOWER IN SEASON THREE, AND NOW CRISTA FLANAGAN 
REVEALS THERE'S MORE TO DON DRAPER'S FLIGHTY EX- 
SECRETARY THAN MEETS THE EYE. PLUS, FIND OUT WHY AMC'S 
HIT SHOW PISSES OFF FORMER ESQUIRE ART DIRECTOR, AD 
GURU AND “ORIGINAL MAD MAN” GEORGE LOIS. 


MEXICO: THE INSIDE DOPE—THE DEADLY NARCOTICS WAR RAG- 
ING SOUTH OF THE BORDER IS INTENSIFYING EVERY DAY. JOSH 
SCHOLLMEYER EXPLORES THE DRUG LORDS AND PRIVATE 
ARMIES THAT DRIVE THIS DANGEROUS UNDERWORLD. 


MICHAEL CERA—HE HELPED MAKE DORKY THE NEW COOL, 
AND GEEKS EVERYWHERE OWE HIM A DEBT OF GRATITUDE. 
ERIC SPITZNAGEL ENGAGES IN SOME WITTY BANTER WITH 
THE JEDI MASTER OF NERD IN 200. 


DEMI MOORE—SHE KICKED OFF COUGAR MANIA WHEN SHE 
SHOWED UP IN CHARLIE’S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE LOOKING 
TAUT, TONED AND HOTTER THAN EVER. AUTHOR WILL BLYTHE 
EXAMINES THE ALLURE OF THE ATTRACTIVE OLDER WOMAN. 


MICHAEL CERA: COOLEST. NERD. EVER. 


AMERICAN NIGHTLIFE: KNOW WHERE TO GO AFTER DARK. 


NIGHT MOVES—IT’S ONE A.M., YOU NEED AN ADULT BEVERAGE 
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LARRY KUDLOW-—HE SPENT THE 19805 AND 19905 HIGH ОМ 
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ECONOMIST. KARL TARO GREENFELD SPENDS SOME TIME WITH 
THE CRAZIEST GUY IN THE WORLD OF FINANCE. 


DRILL!—THE PENNSYLVANIA FARM PROPERTY OWNED BY 
WRITER SEAMUS MCGRAW SITS ATOP THE THIRD-LARGEST RES- 
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A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL AND SELL IT TO TEXAS OILMEN FOR 
MILLIONS OR SACRIFICE WEALTH FOR MOTHER EARTH? 


MOTORCYCLES—THANKS TO MODELS FROM NORTON AND 
TRIUMPH, THE BRITS ARE MAKING A COMEBACK. 


STARDUST-—IN FICTION BY NATIONAL BOOK AWARD FINAL- 
IST CHRISTOPHER SORRENTINO, DISC JOCKEY JOE LAMPTON 
LOSES IT ON AIR AND THEN LOSES HIS JOB, HIS WIFE AND HIS 
RESPECTABILITY. CAN HE KEEP IT TOGETHER IN HIS NEW LIFE 
AS A PUBLIC RADIO ANNOUNCER WHO CAN'T GET LAID? 


PLUS—THE DAPPER FASHION OF THE PRESERVATION HALL 
JAZZ BAND AND MISS AUGUST ANGELA FRANCESCA FRIGO. 


Playboy (ISSN 0032-1478), July 2010, volume 57, number 6. Published monthly except a combined January/February issue 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. 40035534. Subscriptions: in the U.S., $29.97 for a year. Postmaster: Send address change to Playboy, PO. 


126 Вох 8597, Red Oak, Iowa 51591-1597. For subscription-related questions, call 800-999-4438, or e-mail plycustserv@cdsfulfillment.com. 


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