By Charles Lam
By R. Scott Moxley
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By HG Reza
HELL AT NIGHT
If you're the type of gal who can fall for a boy with a cute smile and a guitar in under 30 seconds, have we got a treat for you: meet twin brothers Nart and Danial Chejoka, a.k.a Hell at Night. Nart plays drums, Dan goes wheedle-wheedle on the geetar, and you? Well, you just can't stop staring. Better yet, never before has a musician's day job sounded so, um, primed for a Coke commercial: the two own a specialty construction company. That's right. Construction workers by day, indie rockers at night. The very definition of hot. Seriously. Go look it up. And while you're at it, hit Nart and Dan's MySpace page (myspace.com/hellatnight). These guys (did we mention they're of Russian descent? Again: hawt!) are actually quite good. And by good, we mean hot. Kidding. No really. Listen now. Stop staring at this page. Leave. Go to your computer. Now. For serious. Their album comes out in March. Hot. Construction rock.
Debbie Cook probably isn't going to like being called the sexiest city councilwoman in Orange County. We like that. We think it's sexy. We've always said that Cook is so much more than a pretty face—a very pretty face, punctuated by piercing green eyes (that flash at the sound of lies!) and high cheekbones that highlight a wide smile filled with beautiful teeth, all of it framed by a smartly cut swoosh of blondish-brown hair—and a gracefully lithe body, which let us quickly emphasize, we have also always said that she is so much more than. Cook is more than the best member of the Huntington Beach city council, too, although that really isn't saying anything. She's also become one of Southern California's leaders in pushing for solutions to the fossil-fuel crisis—listening to her throw around terms like "peak oil" and "global warming" and "alternative energy" somehow imbues them with a passion we hadn't found in them before. Listen to what Cook had to say last year when she joined the board of the Post Carbon Institute: "When I explain peak oil to another elected official, and I see her eyes light up, it feels good. I know that solving this problem is going to be a bottom-up process." We've always said that, too. Or maybe we were just dreaming it.
We thought we'd never see Selanne in an Anaheim Ducks uniform again after then-owners Disney let the right-winger (the good kind) leave as a free agent in 2001. But common sense prevailed, by which we mean Disney got the hell out of hockey and sold to local billionaire Henry Samueli. He brought back a gimpy, older Selanne last year to mentor his young, talented squad. But instead of serving as a sage, Selanne scored 90 points and won the NHL's Bill Masterson Trophy for perseverance. Selanne is at it again his year, leading the Ducks to the top of the NHL standings, scoring in bucketfuls and smiling Orange County's widest grin.
Wah-wah-wee-wah! My wife—she dead. Will you be marry me? I like make romance inside you! It's nice!
THE WOMEN OF THE SECOND FLOOR
The people on the second floor of our office building have some kind of boiler room sales cat-and-mouse thing going on and that's really all I know, officer. They're all in their mid-20s, and we can always spot them trotting up to the elevator as we push "2" for them. (And they never seem to notice that. They're always grateful, which almost makes us feel guilty.) The guys have a disheveled emo/pot smoker/young exec aesthetic going. The women, though—hot/hot/hot. Somebody has to rock scoop-neck tube dresses and cork wedges while someone else wears a scoop-neck top and jeans you zip up with Vise Grips, while you're arching your back on the bed. Oh, and also, if you could both, er, rock it at the same time when you're in the elevator with me that'd be great. I would like to double my pleasure, thank you for asking. You don't have to talk.
The assistant professor of Comparative Literature and Film & Media Studies at UCI once interrupted a lecture for a five-minute tangent on John Cale and ever after has owned my heart. Hall, pepper-haired with an adorable lisp and a penchant for patterned button-ups as well as Japanese culture and film, provides irrefutable evidence that having brains and a passion for your craft is a thousand times more attractive than a shiny Mercedes or Hollywood star looks. Plus, he's published multiple papers with titles such as "Area Studies at the Bedroom Door: Queer Theory, Japan, and the Case of the Missing Fantasy" and "Japan's Progressive Sex: Male Homosexuality, National Competition, and the Cinema." And his current book project, according to his UC Irvine faculty bio is "Unwilling Subjects: Fantastic Politics and the Japanese Postwar" which "maps how concepts of fantasy, perversion, and sublimation were used to probe the legacies of post-fascism and neo-imperialism by postwar Japanese literary and cinematic avant-gardes." Hot! Speak nerdy to me.
And speaking of our elevator, if it could talk, the stories it would tell about of the Latino trannie . . . girls who ride up and down late Tuesday afternoons. On the elevator. To pay for their ads. What'd you think I meant? Now, I'm not saying trannies are hot. I'll let the guys in Vice magazine do that for me. . . . Can't find where they said that. Great. Fine, I'll dig myself outta this hole. Situations like this are why I went to grad school. Obviously, the thing that makes trannies almost hot is, they're almost girls. They're not hot—not in this area code—but they could be. Without the chromosome. And the ding-a-ling. Otherwise? Totally hot. Okay, I've backed away from that long enough. Support our advertisers—they support this check.
JACKIE AND RUDY CORDOVA
The owners of the bad-ass Chicano store Calacas are proof that Mexicans and gabachos can not only get along, they can also get married and have cute kids. More than just violate OC's miscegenation taboo, however, the Cordovas are turning their store into the latest hub of Latino youth culture, hosting music nights, art shows and workshops. Besides, few things are sexier than seeing a chica caliente in one of Calacas' many snug, Mexi-ironic T-shirts—our favorite is the one with a Pepsi logo that says "Sexsi." Calacas is at 3374 S. Bristol St. Santa Ana, (714) 662-2002; www.calacasinc.com.
The former Hollywood starlet, ex-Republican and current Newport Beach resident makes our list because she's beautiful, brave, smart--and funny as hell. Unlike President George W. Bush, Mamie Van Doren actually went to Vietnam, where she entertained troops from the Mekong Delta to the DMZ. Last March, she made her debut as a political activist when she gave a rousing speech at an anti-war rally organized by the Orange County Peace Coalition. Asked about her decision to protest the U.S. war in Iraq, Van Doren recalled the lesson of Vietnam. "If you're of a certain age, you remember all that bullshit everyone talked about: the domino theory that Southeast Asia is going to fall apart," she said. "Well, now they're doing fine over there, and back here we're all messed-up. All that is history, and history is something you're supposed to learn from or you relive it. It makes me cringe every time I see another shooting or another bomb going off. It's sickening. I don't know how our president can sleep at night. And the vice president has nothing else better to do than shoot baby quail? He must just get off on that. It's despicable. Can you imagine going off and shooting little birds? There's no glory in that."
With his traditional Japanese half-sleeves, light-colored eyes, close-shaven haircut, and—most importantly—the pet dog that you'll see him walk through the parking lot of Detroit every now and then, Memphis Group co-owner Jason Valdez remains (around Weekly headquarters, at least) one of the county's leading young dreamboats. (And a leading, young, entrepreneurial dreamboat, at that.) He's just one of those dudes who can wear cotton T-shirts and jeans and still exude this irrepressible sense of calmness, sophistication and, well, dreamboatiness. Too bad word has it that Valdez is leaving Orange County—oh well, it was nice while it lasted. P.S. BTW, he recently got married. :[