31 Scariest People in OC


Anyone who has driven down Bristol Street in Santa Ana recently has noticed the white banners hanging from city poles celebrating Mater Dei High School's 50th anniversary. This isn't the only example of the city and the private Catholic high school obliterating the separation of church and state. City taxpayers are silent partners in Mater Dei's current multiyear, multimillion-dollar renovation project. A new chapel is up, a new gymnasium is coming, and a new auditorium is in the planning stages. The buildings are being paid for by the Diocese of Orange, private sponsors, parents and alumni. But the project brought about the re-routing of streets, the acquiring of property and the leveling of an entire residential neighborhood behind the parochial school. The city funded much of that work and gave land to Mater Dei. Why? Because Mater Dei officials had threatened to buy Costa Mesa High School and move the parochial school there. The relocation would allay the fears of the mostly white, mostly upper-income parents cutting tuition checks monthly to Mater Dei, around which a barrio has grown. When Santa Ana city officials caught wind of the proposed move, they begged Mater Dei to stay. After hours of backroom negotiations—and city concessions—Mater Dei announced it was staying put because to move would send the wrong message to the inner city. MITIGATING FACTOR: De La Salle will always kick Mater Dei's ass in football.


The lead singer of perky OC ska/rock trio My Superhero came out of the closet earlier this year as a shrieky, whining, ill-informed homophobe. Big deal, you say; there are countless 'phobes among us. But what's remarkable is the career-killing method with which Gilmore chose to reveal himself—by posting such tired, breathless rantings as, "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve"; "I heard that the average gay male has at least 200 sexual partners in his life"; and, "If gays want to get married, they'll have to create their own kind of marriage vows that don't involve the Bible or God" on a My Superhero discussion board, thereby dragging band mates Chris Clawson and Huey Huynh into his scary POV. Gilmore further showed he's really into self-alienation by incredibly attacking his own fans, branding them "a sorry lot of kids" if they didn't share his opinions. MITIGATING FACTOR: See Dave Wakeling (No. 23).


Bass player of Nashville Pussy and sister of the Washington Wizards' Cherokee, Parks is, like, 7-foot-13. And she's not one of those tall people who slouches to lose a few inches. She stands up to her full height of maybe 8-foot-7. And she wears itty-bitty, tight, corset-like tops and enough black eye gunk to rival the famed tar pits of La Brea. In short, she wears her stage getup on- and offstage in places like Costa Mesa's Club Mesa and the Tiki Bar, not to mention a handful of other local venues and bars. Which is scary because what is she doing here? The band's from Athens, Georgia. MITIGATING FACTOR: She grew up here, and hell, how can you not like Nashville Pussy?


Here's a guy who for the past four years complained about county executive officer Jan Mittermeier every chance he got. He said she withheld official county travel records from him and accused her of trying to ram an international airport down South County's throat. So what does he do on April 11, when two other supervisors—Chuck Smith and Todd Spitzer—say they'll vote to sack her? He votes to retain her and then puts out a confused, rambling press release saying his action was motivated purely by anti-airport concerns. He neglected to mention the phone conversation he had with Irvine Co. vice president Gary Hunt the night before. In any case, three months later, Wilson flipped again, and OC rid itself forever of Mittermeier. This is supervision? MITIGATING FACTOR: Has a beautiful fetid pool of slime named after him in Aliso Viejo.


Stand in front at a Le Shok show, and you will get wet: beer if you're lucky, blood if you're not, and steamy slobber if 6-foot-6 singer Hot Rod Todd really wants to make you feel special. It's just audience participation, but the "little 15-year-old boys, they get bummed out when I give 'em the open-mouth kisses," he says. Big boys get the big guns: about to suffer at the beefy hands of bouncers at the Tiki Bar after a typically riotous show, Todd made them back off by dropping his pants and starting to jack off. "They froze in their tracks," he says. He's polite as can be off-duty, but things have a way of getting a little unpredictable—and bloody, broken, naked or on fire—once the beat kicks in and his long, long arms start plucking victims from the crowd. MITIGATING FACTOR: "People think I'm tough, but I'd much rather sit down and have a drink with them than hurt 'em."


It would take a monster of Frankensteinian proportions to overshadow slimy Laguna Beach City Councilman Paul Freeman. That monster has finally emerged as Butterfield, who, serving since 1998 as president of the Laguna Beach Festival of the Arts until her recall on Oct. 24, has revealed herself as the most bizarre, illogical, rambling dingbat in the county. It would take a Herculean effort to screw up the 68-year-old festival, but Butterfield—Mission Viejo's mayor—succeeded by leading mysterious effort to hijack the event to San Clemente. So far, Laguna residents have blocked the scheme. MITIGATING FACTOR: The pitchforks and torches required to drive Frankenstein into the wilderness are cheap.

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