The Mistress of the Dark is actually named Cassandra Peterson. She’s a redhead, and she was not shy.
Here is an entire album of GIADA DE LAURENTIIS in a swimsuit at a beach in Miami 2/21/2019 (including a couple of looks at the nip-slip)
Another mammoth update this week:
new pics 02/22:
Emmanuelle Devos in “Amin”:
Mareme N’Diaye in “Amin”:
Clara Ponsot in “du soleil in mes yeux”:
Delphine Chanéac in “stranger in the dune”:
Sara Martins in “Voyiez comme ils inent”:
Natacha Lindinger in “Sam”:
Emilie Gavois-Kahn in “Jupiter”:
Romane Bohringer in “l’mour flou”:
Alienor Marcadé Sechan in “l’amour flou”:
Florence Fauquet in “POV”:
Colomba Giovanni in “fusion” & “EA”:
Charlie Quatrefages in “EA”:
After having observed her for so many years, I have finally had an epiphany that Lily is kind of a strange woman.
The clip below includes sound and the legendary bare booty shot.
Peter Tork, Monkees bass player, has died. He turned 77 last week.
Tork (1942-2019) was the oldest of the Monkees.
Davy Jones, the youngest, (1945-2012) was the first to pass.
Mike Nesmith (1942-) recently had heart surgery, but is recovering well.
Mickey “Circus Boy” Dolenz (1945-) is apparently fit as a fiddle.
The Monkees became popular when I was in college, but their music was clearly aimed at younger teens who weren’t interested in the bad-boy Stones or the morphing, experimenting Beatles. The Monkees were such a cutesy, pre-fab teeny-bopper group that they didn’t even play their own instruments on their first album. In a world that was darkening ominously as a counter-cultural storm brewed, the Monkees seemed to represent light and sunshine, a frivolous and obviously commercialized confection.
Despite all of that, and despite the occasional contempt of my snobbier friends, I thought the Monkees’ tunes were catchy, and since they were ubiquitous, I often caught myself singing along with the radio. OK, I didn’t buy any of their albums or anything like that, but I did watch their silly TV show quite often – and occasionally laughed.
And I ain’t embarrassed to admit it.
She somehow managed to be a laid-back actor more in the Owen Wilson mold than in the style of her legendary over-acting and usually drunk grandfather, John Barrymore. Here’s The Great Profile at his amateurish, hammiest worst (best?) in Twentieth Century (1934):