Excerpts: Part 2

Oct. 23, 1998 The Internet used to be a kind of reservation where geeks like me could freely engage in debate over who was sexier: Picard or Kirk. Then the World Wide Web glitzed it up, and business moneyed it up, and when the dust cleared, big business, governments worldwide, lawyers and ordinary citizens were locked in a death tussle for control of the Net. This year alone has seen unprecedented attempts to regulate it. States (including California) passed anti-spam laws, anti-tax laws and anti-porn laws. Congress has considered bills on everything from pornography to copyleft law—and passed a fair number of them, many in a last-minute rush earlier this month. Europe is doing battle with the U.S. over how to control the domain-name system. And activist groups all over the political spectrum —from far-left fundie wackos to those Leftist demons, the ACLU—are carving out their pounds of flesh. The geek preserve is no more.

Wyn Hilty, "Geeks of the World, Unite! And write!"

Oct. 30, 1998 If, perchance, you like to suffer fools, by all means head to Capo Beach Bar and Grill at midnight on a Friday. The very first thing we heard as we entered was, "Hey, One-Eye!"

For the past several weeks, I've been wearing a pirate's patch over my left eye. It's a very long story that involves insect larvae hatching in my eye socket, lots of green and lavender pus, and either VD or cancer. It's been a Very Bad Week.

Now, the drunk at the bar who addressed me thus wasn't being unfriendly; it was his come-on. And if you've ever been addressed as "Hey, One-Eye," you know how very seductive it is. Then I played pool with a bearded biker guy who was at least 6-foot-6, and he was so drunk that he took someone else's personal cue—and then he threatened to fight the guy who wanted it back. And then I lit a cigarette, and some guy asked me for one—not because he wanted to smoke it, but because that was his come-on. When he put the cigarette in his pocket (I only had a few left), I told him that it's rude to take one for later, and he slurred something about if I could raise his flagpole, he would let me come over. And then the guy who had called me One-Eye crooked his finger at me to come to him, and I was forced to start screaming that I'm not a fucking dog who comes when she's called, and if he wanted to fucking talk to me, he could get off his fat ass and come talk to me like a fucking gentleman!

Boys, it really, really irks me when you crook your finger at me, and I'd wager that most women feel the same. Remember that the next time you're in a bar or club and think you're Rico Suave. And then two people on a blind date were nuzzling each other and were obviously going to be having sex, which is really unfair because the girl was a plastic bitch who'd been whispering about my beautiful sister all night and the guy was a stuck-up ass, and I don't know why people like that get to have sex when I'm getting positively dusty, like an old maid in a screwball comedy, and goddamn it, don't I deserve some? Baby ain't gettin' no play, children, and I think it may be taking its toll on my justly celebrated good humor, kindliness and gentle wisdom. Maybe if I'd been nicer to the guy who wanted me to raise his flagpole . . .

Rebecca Schoenkopf, Commie Girl

Nov. 6, 1998 Twenty-five minutes into his speech (and with GOP chiefs Tom Fuentes and Mike Schroeder angrily trying to get Dornan offstage so that Fong could speak before midnight), Dornan resorted to his forte: character assassination. "We have a serial adulterer representing the 46th [Congressional District]. Did you hear that in the press?" he shouted before walking away from the podium and toward an offstage Reverend Lou Sheldon of the Anaheim-based Traditional Values Coalition.

Kate, one of Dornan's scary daughters, then walked to the edge of the stage, glared at the TV cameras in the back of the ballroom and yelled, "It's not over, Loretta. We're coming after you—bad. Do you hear me?"

The Dornan Family Theater wasn't over. On the other side of the stage, Kate found, of all people to heckle, a Fong supporter. Soon, people were wrestling on the floor. Blood poured. A member of the Dornan clan was hauled off in handcuffs. No arrests were made. But just as tempers were calming, a disheveled, 42-year-old Bob Dornan Jr. showed up, made a derogatory remark about Fong, asked bystanders "to show some class," and then challenged a few fellow Republicans to fistfights. Bob Jr. later described the encounter this way: "I told them, 'Man, you aren't nothing but low-class assholes, so shut up.'"

Next on Team Dornan's assault list was fellow Republican Dana Rohrabacher. "My dad gave you your seat," Bob Jr. told the six-term Huntington Beach congressman. "You and [Congressman Chris] Cox owe everything to my dad. Both of you are gone, buddy. We're going to see you in two years. My brother [Mark] is going to beat you, and even though I'm not educated, I'm going to beat Cox."

R. Scott Moxley, "White Trash Disco: Bob Dornan's shameful final hours"
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