By Matt Coker
By R. Scott Moxley
By Charles Lam
By Nick Schou
By Gustavo Arellano
By Gustavo Arellano
By Steve Lowery
By R. Scott Moxley
6. Orange County Sheriff Mike Carona. Forget the uniform—tan polyester is overrated. Forget the charm and the chattiness and the easygoing joviality (Carona was born to run for governor). But never forget the gun. Sure, we're knee-jerk anti-NRA here in the Che Guevara Memorial Building, but, well, how can you resist such a dangerous, hard, steely taboo? It's right . . . there. On his hip. And it kind of makes you want to . . . you know . . . grab it and fire the thing off and suck the smoke in through your nostrils. Though we've never actually touched the sheriff beyond the most respectable handshake, a woman friend of ours who hugged him leaned over to us after and stage-whispered, "Did you feel the sheriff? He is hard! Absolutely hard!" She nodded sagely. "He works out!" We'll take any workout he wants to inflict.
7. Your World Champion Anaheim Angels. They're so humble. And hardworking. And win-one-for-the-teamy. There's no Barry Bonds skulking in the background, refusing to so much as take a picture with the rest of the guys. (Happily, there's also no Barry Bonds dropping the same ball three times before managing to throw it home.) No, there's just MVP Troy Glaus, being all big and gorgeously all-American on the teevee (though in person he's rather more like wallpaper). There's pitcher Brendan Donnelly, who on television looks like a big, goggles-wearing doofus but who in person is beefcake-hot—so embarrassingly hot, in fact, you can't make eye contact because he'll know you're just a groupie skank gay boy at heart. There's adorable shortstop David Eckstein, whom you just want to take to your bosom and squeeze like a puppy. There's Adam Kennedy, who's kind of spindly, but that doesn't stop the groupies. And there's the doughy but still sleek Tim Salmon. And there's first baseman and Sandfrog front man Scott Spiezio. No, he still hasn't washed his hair.
8. Your Mom. Your mom is hot!
9. Haley Horton. People are always so shocked when something besides a cheap inanity tumbles out of Haley Horton's pretty mouth—and we've yet to hear an inanity from Haley. How could she be talking about art and philosophy and current events? She's, you know, a bartender! That she's also a photographer and actually has a college degree helps to alleviate people's befuddledness, if she deigns to explain it. But then she smiles like Julia Roberts, and people get befuddled all over again. Haley has been quick to make Costa Mesa home since moving back from San Diego by hanging with the Memphis Mafia. But she's not really at home amid the cliquish and stylish Costa Mesa 500. She'd rather hang with someone with a brain, so long as someone else's pouring drinks.
10. Laurie Hassold. The Costa Mesa sculptor wears black-leather mini skirts. She is six feet tall—at least five of which are legs, legs, legs. She is blonde. And she likes to make art out of dead stuff, and then stand around and pet it. Just think: if you were dead, maybe then she would pet you!
11. Brian from Wonderlove. There are a thousand yummy rock stars in this county we call Orange. But the yummiest for right now is the tall, kind, open guitarist for Wonderlove (also home to the charmingly addled Dave Beste and the enthusiastic, Teutonic drummer Dickie). Brian has gravity-defying Sideshow Bob hair. We've witnessed rock-star theatrics worthy of an arena even while he was suffering a temperature that should have been treated at the nearest ICU. Also, his fiancee is supernice, and sometimes he wears a boa!
12. Kelly O. The Long Beach artist/Dibs girlfriend is smokin'-hot. If you were Chris Hanlin, you could come home from a long day in the studio, and she'd be there, painting in the nude! But you're not Chris Hanlin. Too bad. The rest of us just get to see her at any and all LBC-related gigs, dancing sexily at the front of the stage (with the rest of Long Beach's arty beauties, who ain't chopped liver either). But oh, what a treat! Perhaps she'll be in a Carmen Miranda number, or a spangly, midriff-baring evening gown she made herself. Sometimes, her dresses are cut so high, you can almost see her womanly core, but if you think you glimpsed it, she probably tricked you by wearing beige panties. She's a trickster, that one!
13. Cuauhtémoc.Looks-wise: they're okay. Availability: all taken, ladies and gay gents. But the once four-, currently six-, soon-to-be five-member group (lead singer Coyotl is moving back to Guerrero, Mexico, so he can work his ailing grandfather's farm—how sexy is that?!) derive their too-hot-to-trot status from putting their lyrics where their actions are. Not only do they sing about bettering their communities, but they also organize parent- and kid-friendly punk events. Not only do they attack Bush's looming war, but they also helped organize the 600-plus-people anti-war rally a couple of weeks back at the Nixon Library. Not only do they rail against the police, but they also battle cases of police misconduct without fear. And Cuauhtémoc's ruthlessly beautiful punk—Indian flutes with distorted guitars, please!—makes the most chaste straight-edger sweat a little.