By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
Haven't bought your tickets to Egypt yet? Or laid in your stock of Dom Perignon? (Tip: buy two cases now—one for yourself and one to sell; we heard there's going to be a shortage. Of course, we haven't checked on that lately, but the worst that can happen is you'll be unable to sell the second and will have two cases of champagne on your hands. Poor baby.)
You don't even know what we're talking about, do you? New Year's, lambikins. If we were a broadcast-news personage, we'd now run a graphic proclaiming something terribly dramatic, like "Stormwatch '00," or "The Presidency in Jeopardy," except relating to New Year's Eve parties instead of, you know, rain clouds or Republicans, as if there were a difference between the two.
Now that we've taken a gratuitous potshot at our esteemed friends on the other side of the aisle (just wait; we feel a reference coming on to Gloria Matta Tuchman, who's now completely irrelevant but still our favorite whipping girl! By the way, want to know an unintended consequence of Proposition 227, Tuchman's grand idea that ended bilingual education in California? Schools get funds to buy new books in each subject every seven years, so until it's time for a school to buy books again—up to seven years away—there are no textbooks bilingual-education classes are permitted by law to use; they can't use books written in Spanish, and there are no funds for new ones in English), we can get on with the business of this column, which we'll have you know required actual reportage, like calling people up and asking them what kind of New Year's party they're putting on. That's right. In July. You know why? We would hate to get beat on this story by The Orange County Register, which, now that it has Big Marcia, the Roving NewsRV, is apparently really getting to knowthe community and may actually become relevant itself, although friends of ours in the OC Weekly newsroom are screaming that Big Marcia is just the kind of stunt they had to put up with when they worked at mainstream dailies: their editors would sink untold hundreds of thousands of dollars into PR gimmicks rather than "getting to know the community" by, say, hiring more reporters at a living wage.
Oh, yes. Sorry about that. So, like you, we were once considering a New Year's Eve spent hiding beneath the bedclothes, preferably with a date, waiting for the rampaging and pillaging to end. Or start. Or something. Depends on how much we like the date. And since we don't believe in guns, even toy ones, we figured we could keep a non-gender-specific learning game at hand with which to ward off intruders. Something nurturing, you know?
But then we called up these actual promoters to find out what kind of actual parties we could be attending. And so here you are.
Commie Girl's Guide
to the Millennium
Still haven't bought those tickets to Egypt? How about Extreme 2000 at the Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre? Promoters Altan (Unity Productions) and Jaime Muñoz (Taurus Enterprises) know that we in our 20s and 30s begin climbing rock walls and racing down vert pipes as soon as you press our Pavlovian on button—the one marked "Extreme" anything, even Extreme Meat or Extreme Sofas. In the case of Extreme 2000, there will be an Extreme Wedding Chapel, with Elvis officiating, making this the 27th time today we've wished we had a boyfriend. Negotiations are under way with SoCal-based KROQ bands (perhaps Lit, No Doubt, The Offspring or the sad, sad Sugar Ray), and there'll be a rave tent or two, video games, carnival rides and a vert ramp (natch), and at exactly midnight, a motorcycle stunt rider will jump the stage with the band still on it, followed by a fireworks show as the band plays an alt.-rock version of "Auld Lang Syne." To be honest, that last part sounded a little silly to us. But c'mon! They've got the Hammer (the carnival ride, not the exuberantly trousered rapper), Spin Out and the Human Catapult! Let's just hope none of 'em run on bad chips. Want info? Check out www.2000 extreme.com. Ticket prices are still up in the air; Muñoz says they wanted to sell them for $25 but they'll probably end up between $30 and $40 because the bands they're talking to are being "ridiculous."
No? Then how about the boys behind Rubber and the Pimp & Ho balls? Not surprisingly, since we're calling in July, Damian Sanders and John Huntington say everything's still in flux. They had been planning on doing their party planning next week, but deadlines wait for no man. Except us, on occasion. This they do know: there will be a show here and one in Las Vegas (they're huge in Vegas, like David Hasselhoff in Germany and Gloria Matta Tuchman, period; we told you we felt it coming on). They're looking at venues that can hold about 3,500 people here (maybe the fairgrounds?) and either 4,000 or 15,000 in Vegas. There will be "touring talent," major DJs and prop-intensive lighting. They're looking to sign up a pay-per-view deal for all the scaredy cats hanging out at home, which seems odd. What if in the new millennium, we do all our partying by ourselves, via video? That's scarier than anything in Strange Days, the wonderful movie starring Angela Bassett's arms. Tickets will be close to $100 here and maybe $150 in Vegas: reasonable, if not necessarily thrifty. "We don't want to gouge the people," Huntington said. Isn't that good of them? Want info? Call (949) 224-3006 or check out www.pimpnho.com.