By LP Hastings
By Michael Goldstein
By R. Scott Moxley
By Gustavo Arellano
By Gustavo Arellano
By Matt Coker
By Nick Schou
By Bethania Palma Markus
I'm hoping OC Metro took Habana owner Jeffrey Best's comments egregiously out of context in its "Orange County's Hottest 25" issue. The Metro claims Best is "an outspoken Orange County booster." You decide: "People in LA underestimate Orange County. . . . You're talking about people who live at the beach, drive a Mercedes, shop at South Coast Plaza, stay at the Ritz-Carlton. They know quality, and they know what it costs, and they're used to paying for it. People think Orange County is so provincial, with no style, but I tell you what: there are more women with Prada purses down here than in LA, more guys down here wearing Armani suits than in LA."
As soon as I recovered from a seizure brought on by maniacal laughter, I realized that Best was kidding. Oh, it wasn't Best judging counties by their wallets that made me laugh, or that he equates reckless consumption with sophistication (only those awful Communist types would take umbrage at that). It was his choices, darlings! But let's be generous and blame the Metro; they really must have heard him wrong. Prada? Everyone knows Paul Frank is the purse of today. Prada is so . . . Geritol. And if you're going to judge a society by the handbag it carries (it is not shallow! It's very, very important!), then Frank's sly, playful packs have the legs to take us into the next millennium.
Speaking of legs, he makes socks!
Speaking of Frank-whose purses I really do like, but I'd never buy one because The Man has me down, and I prefer to blow my money on rent-we spotted him at Koo's Art Cafe taking pictures with his purple plastic Nickelodeon camera during Sunday night's Captured by Robots show. (Also spotted was Simpsons writer/brother of Gwen/former No Doubter Eric Stefani, who was playing the same video game for at least an hour.) And could the show have been any better? Nyet. It started with the darling Derby, a bunch of 21-year-old boys (their manager is 19!) whose poppy tunes were loud and surprisingly tuneful. Then there were some other guys, who were also kind of good. And then Captured by Robots took the audience hostage. JBOT, a former Skankin Pickle and Blue Meanie, is one guy with a lot of time on his hands. His robots-GTRBOT 666, The Ape That Hath No Name and DRMBOT-actually play their instruments! And light up! And humiliate him in a most dastardly fashion! Their songs-delicate love songs to dildoes about finding "that special place," worthy of South Park's Chef-were fantastically wonderful, and for some odd reason, Koo's actually had a bunch of grown-ups there! It was fun, damn it!
Speaking of fun, I love panel discussions. No, I'm serious! The Newport Beach Public Library hosted one Friday night on "The Future of Journalism," and since the OC Weekly hadn't been invited, I figured I'd represent from the back row (you know, like on the bus, where all the cool kids sit). Times Orange County editor Lennie LaGuire was well-spoken and thoughtful. Braxton Jarratt, who oversees OCnow.com, looked like a soap-opera star and went to Dartmouth, but he unfortunately felt the need to relate the entire corporate history of the Cox Communications empire. And former KNBC anchor Jess Marlow charmed the pants off everyone in the room with the possible exception of the old blonde in stiletto heels who during the question-and-answer romp bitched, "Many of us are concerned the media is becoming more and more liberal." After all, Marlow had credited the news with "shaming" America into looking anew at the Civil Rights movement in the '60s, and Old Mrs. Vlad the Impaler couldn't have approved of that.
Speaking of disapproval, I didn't approve of the swine at the Humpers show at the Foothill; they kept purposely shoving us on their way into and out of the pit, which they entered and exited with alarming regularity. My homegirl Arrissia Owen almost got into a fight with one ass who couldn't keep his hands to himself. But I had her back. The stupidest of them kept pushing us on his way to the stage, onto which he then jumped and danced around angrily; when he left the stage, he passed through the pit, where he pushed us again! I asked bouncer-to-the-stars Mike Meyers to kick him the hell out-or just kick the hell out of him-but the Humpers' lead singer had already embarrassed the guy by yelling: "Hey, Baldy! Don't just jump on the stage, you dumb asshole! If you're gonna jump on the stage, you at least have to learn how to rock!" It worked: Baldy shoved us one more time, and then we didn't see him again. As for Meyers-who's the same guy who once had a cinder block broken on his stomach with a sledgehammer before setting himself afire at a friend's show-he told us that the night before, he had accidentally electrocuted himself with an ungrounded microphone. Twice. I love that man!
And speaking of men I love, could Jimmy Intveld look any more like the Devil? I'm thinking not. The rootsy rockabilly guy (who plays Friday at Linda's Doll Hut along with our own Buddy Blue-I'll see you all there!) celebrated his 39th birthday at The 13th Floor on Friday the 13th. His manager says he's 40; I'm not sure which of them to believe, but after I bought him a birthday drink, he kissed me on the cheek, which is more action than I've had in months, so I was pleased. And the 13th Floor? It's not in Huntington Beach; it's in SunsetBeach, so somehow the fact that it was boiling over with roving packs of boys wasn't nearly as threatening as it would have been, say, outside Hurricane's. A couple of them even talked to us!
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