Photo by Jack GouldIn this week of one icky news day after another, there have been a few beams of light. One has been watching the batty Ted Crisell trying very loudly to get elected chairman of the OC Democratic Central Committee. Wait! Come back! It's actually terribly, terribly interesting! See, our handsome friend Martin Wisckol at The Orange County Register wrote a rather inane article about how Crisell is against the drug war—a surprisingly sane stance, given how completely loony Crisell is. I once noted that Crisell, who was at the time running against Surfin' Congressman Dana Rohrabacher, never put the word “Democrat” anywhere in any of his campaign literature, but that in listening to his positions, I'd concluded he was in fact a good Leftist. He proceeded to leave me two voice-mail messages screaming that I was a fucking piece of shit (at approximately four minutes each) because the commune-livin' Crisell was not a “Leftist” as I had “labeled” him. God, I hate people!
After Wisckol's article appeared, Jeanne Costales, current head of the party, told everyone Crisell had withdrawn his name from consideration. But had he? No, he had not! He refuted the rumors and outlined his vision for the Central Committee, including this memorable proposal: “I will also recommend we do new and professional stationery.” Then on Monday, Crisell whipped out his own professional stationery to announce his withdrawal. Now he wants to be secretary of state. Godspeed, Lefty.
The other bit of magic in the news came court fired Linda Tripp.” Oh, how I shall miss La Tripp and her poisonous rectitude! LINDA TRIPP KILLED VINCE FOSTER! It's true—maybe!
But as all these things were going on far, far away (as was President Numbnuts' declaration that we in California shouldn't expect price caps on his Houston Dynergy buddies' energy bills but instead are just gonna hafta loosen our silly environmental regulations regarding nuclear power; Chernobyl, anyone?), what did we in Orange County have to look forward to? How about some shopping! I hit the South Coast Plaza Banana Republic's grand opening party Jan. 18—nominally because 15 percent of the proceeds were to benefit the Orange County Museum of Art but really because I knew the roast beef would be marvelous and the champagne would flow like it's 1989. Normally I wouldn't bother writing about such a thing, but the eye candy (imported from LA) bearing the trays was so pervasively friendly and the security guys talking into their wrists so terribly handsome, I'm afraid you're just going to have to sit there and take it. The DJing was fab, full of Gipsy Kings beats, and the clothes were all crafted from lovely —if o'erweening tan and teal—fabrics. Also, the party posse (the Reg's Daniella Walsh and Richard Chang) was in the house, not to mention OC Metro's indefatigable mooch Kedric Francis, who once stayed with friends for an entire weekend after being invited for dinner. This truly is a master from whom I have many lessons to learn!
Meanwhile, in Irvine: Jaime Munoz is promoting a Friday-night Star 98.7 party with blond DJ Lara Scott. Unfortunately, the giant Tia Juana's, standing stately and big as a Soviet cafeteria (but with clever sayings painted on the walls instead of portraits of Lenin) was filled like a ripe, yellow zit with . . . people from Irvine, so I had a Coke and got the hell out. (I think it's terribly interesting how people from Irvine feel most comfortable in huge, warehouse restaurants where they're part of a faceless mob, just like their cozy neighborhoods where they're part of a faceless mob. Someday I shall have a cohesive theory about this involving berbillionaire Donald Bren and gated communities and privacy as the last bastion of elitism in this television-confessional world. But not today.) Sorry I couldn't stay, Jaime, but I had tiles just screaming for grout! Maybe next week!
And next time y'all are marching in any kind of big, wonderful protest, may I suggest strolling next to the cats with the red socialist banners? They have the best chants, including a fun one about the death penalty and “Hypocrisia, que (or “des“; both were being shouted by the peeps around us, who probably know about as much Spanish as I do) no! Democracia, que s!” and something about “Un pueblo unido,” but I couldn't understand the second half. It's really fun chanting in Spanish! You know, Linda Tripp killed Vince Foster. Maybe.
Who killed Vince Foster? And who killed Laura Palmer? co**********@ho*****.com">Co**********@ho*****.com.
