Word: g-string
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...soloist, Rieu is a perfectly respectable violinist and conductor, and he has a knack for picking danceworthy tempos. His slickly polished albums may not be especially demanding, but they aren't gimmicky either; he doesn't play reggae versions of Tales from the Vienna Woods or pose in a G-string for publicity shots. All he does is look handsome and make music--a concept as old-fashioned as the music he makes. Therein, in fact, may lie the real secret of his success: the perpetually hummable tunes of the 19th century waltz king after whom Rieu's orchestra...
...snapped a self-portrait (yes, that's her) and penned a piece for Details' Mondo Hollywood issue. Apparently, divadom isn't all it's cracked up to be. Moore complains of being thrown onto powdered cement, walking "small, repetitive distances in uncomfortable shoes" and standing around in a G-string with tissues stuffed up her nose. "I have even gone so far as to roll around in a semiclad state on piles of money and Michael Douglas," she says. All for just a few million lousy bucks. But it's not endlessly horrid. "You just have to remind yourself that...
...first time I saw Phoenix she was wearing a red g-string and highheels; her hair also had red highlights, though these were hard to distinguish under the lights. I had my feet on the stage, and my elbow on the table, next to Chris's beer. We both had Buds, as always, the cheapest drink...
...most fat, many old. Only a few smiled back at Phoenix; most were somewhere between looking morose and looking mesmerized. Some of the older men, who seemed to be regulars, Phoenix talked with awhile, resting her legs on the backs of her highheels while they put bills in her g-string and made chit-chat. Phoenix laughed and nodded, occasionally making a small hand gesture, but their voices were inaudible from our table. Then she would dance off again, pausing by the speakers to unload her g-string tips. Unlike most of the dancers who had mascaraed eyes...
...second time I saw Phoenix she had on a blue g-string and black cowboy boots; we were on a darker side of the stage, and I could see her redgold hair more clearly. My first love had redgold hair, reminded me of fire and roses. She also lives in Madison, with her three-year boyfriend. We talk occasionally; I'm lobbying to become godfather to her first child--she thinks she'll marry Marty. I don't know if I'm happy...