Photos from behind the scene of Freaks and Geeks.

Leonardo DiCaprio (1998)

But this year, an alternative breed of athletes emerged: athletes who look like hobbits. And I mean that as a compliment. I’m talking about tennis champ Andy Murray (above, left) and golfer Rory McIlroy, possessors of a raw hobbit magnetism, with their ruffled I’ve-just-been-scampering-through-the-forest hair and laissez-furry appendages. (Sure, Murray is six three, but he looks like a hot Baggins who got stretched out on a medieval torture rack.) I like imagining the deep blush that would rise in McIlroy’s squirrel cheeks were I to take hold of his putter and whisper in his ear the Elvish words of seduction: Hanuvalmet i meleth úfiron (roughly, “Let us do the immortal love act”). I envision the jealousy in Murray’s eyes (“My precious!” he screams, casting his racket into the depths of Mount Doom) when news of my night with Rory reaches him via Ringwraiths. Tom Brady? I can only picture that guy in front of a mirror fussing with his hair. 

The Week in Style

That man may be Bill Murray.

Coffy (1973)

Real functional VHS for modern movies by Offtrackoutlet

Peter Brown and Pam Grier, Foxy Brown (1974)

Is the reigning king of comedy jumping from the silver screen to…Broadway? Amy Wallace sits down with Judd Apatow and hears all about his (surprisingly mature) plans for the future.

David Bowie Something kind of hit me today I looked at you and wondered if you saw things my way People will hold us to blame It hit me today, it hit me today We’re taking it hard all the time Why don’t we pass it by? Just reply, you’ve changed your mind We’re fighting with the eyes of the blind Taking it hard, taking it hard Yet now We feel that we are papers, choking on you nightly They tell me “Son, we want you, be elusive, but don’t walk far” For we’re breaking in the new boys, deceive your next of kin For you’re dancing where the dogs decay, defecating ecstasy You’re just an ally of the leecher Locator for the virgin King, but I love you in your fuck-me pumps And your nimble dress that trails Oh, dress yourself, my urchin one, for I hear them on the rails Because of all we’ve seen, because of all we’ve said We are the dead One thing kind of touched me today I looked at you and counted all the times we had laid Pressing our love through the night Knowing it’s right, knowing it’s right Now I’m hoping some one will care Living on the breath of a hope to be shared Trusting on the sons of our love That someone will care, someone will care But now We’re today’s scrambled creatures, locked in tomorrow’s double feature Heaven’s on the pillow, its silence competes with hell It’s a twenty-four hour service, guaranteed to make you tell And the streets are full of press men Bent on getting hung and buried And the legendary curtains are drawn ‘round Baby Bankrupt Who sucks you while you’re sleeping It’s the theater of financiers Count them, fifty 'round a table White and dressed to kill Oh caress yourself, my juicy For my hands have all but withered Oh dress yourself my urchin one, for I hear them on the stairs Because of all we’ve seen, because of all we’ve said We are the dead We are the dead We are the dead