Best "O" Face 2008 | Chuey the Rock 'n' Roll Midget | People & Places | Phoenix

Long before clips of the Verne Troyer sex tape hit Internet gossip sites, the PHX's own version of Mini-Me, Chuey the Rock and Roll Midget, was presenting a sexual performance of his own for the camera, albeit a solo one. See, Phoenix photographer Giulio Sciorio has a series he calls "Faces of Ecstasy: Real People, Real Orgasms." They're close-up, PG-rated portraits of men and women making sweet love to themselves, capturing for all eternity the model's flippin' "O" face. Some folks look like they're in pain, some like they're on the crapper, still others look as wanton and hot as you'd want them to look. But nothing beats the look of closed-eyed concentration that Chuey exhibits while polishing his bishop. In fact, if one of Chuey's shoulders was not lower than the other (Sciorio's portraits never reveal the activities going on below the waist), you might reckon him to be dead. What is it the French call the orgasm, la petite mort? The phrase seems apropos here. Thankfully, Chuey himself is still alive, and rocking the mic at the Scottsdale bar Giligins, where he emcees all kinds of insanity and even has his own, fully stocked "midget bar," where patrons have to sit at eye level with the great and wee man.

Some people just don't take rejection very well. For instance, Kurt William Havelock had dreams of calling his Halloween-themed concept bar and restaurant "Drunkensteins," but after the Tempe City Council denied him a liquor license last fall, the 36-year-old restaurateur took the news kinda badly.

How badly? Well, Havelock reportedly came close to wiping out countless people gathered near University of Phoenix Stadium in Glendale for Super Bowl XLII with an AR-15 and 200 rounds of ammo. According to the eight-page manifesto he mailed to various local and national publications (including New Times), it was a revenge scheme that Havelock plotted in response to Tempe's diss. (Most rejected restaurateurs woulda just gone back to the drawing board.) Fortunately, he tearfully turned himself in to Tempe police instead of pulling the trigger. In June, he was convicted of six counts of mailing threatening communications by a U.S. District Court and is facing up to five years in the federal pen. Thankfully, the only murdering going on that day was the killing of the New England Patriots' dreams of a perfect season.

So, what, Crispin Glover's a freak? Hey, tell us something we don't know, Buckwheat. After all, the cult B-lister's probably best known for an incident in which he aimed an on-air karate kick at David Letterman back in the day, in addition to playing weirdo roles in Back to the Future, River's Edge, Charlie's Angels, and Wild at Heart. Then there's his kooky art flick What Is It?, in which a cast of actors with Down syndrome kill snails, and big-breasted women in masks run around naked.

So it's no surprise to us that, according to the folks at Chandler Cinemas, Glover demanded his fee up front, in cash and in crisp, clean bills when he appeared at the theater for a three-night run of What Is It? in May. Supposedly, Glover owns a castle, or something, in the Czech Republic, and the Czechs don't dig the dirty bills. Glover also claimed the Chandler Cinemas damaged his film somehow, and demanded they pay for its repair to the tune of $610. Though the indie operators of Chandler Cinemas didn't really buy that their projectionist harmed the print of the weird-ass movie, they agreed to pay Glover to calm his ass down during a tantrum in which he berated the theater's projectionist and made her cry. For the record, Glover's denied the tantrum, and says he warned the theater ahead of time about having his cash up front. He also claims he never made anyone cry. Well, except for anyone with taste who had to endure that turd of a movie of his.

From 8:30 to noon on weekdays, you can switch on KTAR saliva jockey Darrell Ankarlo and hear him bitching about brown folk. Supposedly a big Christian, his broadcasts regularly pound away at the most defenseless members of our society — those at the bottom of the economic ladder, undocumented men and women who have to hide in the shadows just so they can bust their butts to survive in this country. He regularly whips up hysteria against illegal aliens, unfairly linking all of them to crime. He supports Sheriff Joe Arpaio's anti-Hispanic dragnets in the Valley, frequently having the sheriff on his show to butt-lick our corrupt top constable. He bashes "anchor babies," who are nothing more than American citizens born to undocumented moms. And he suggests Mexicans are dirty and lecherous, describing their neighborhoods as full of trash, and Mexican men as constantly leering at white chicks.

Occasionally, Ankarlo feigns concern for the plight of the undocumented, only to turn right around the next minute, wrap himself in the flag, and condemn them as a threat to the American way of life. Ankarlo's a despicable, self-serving windbag, turning a week of broadcasts from the Mexico-America border into the book Another Man's Sombrero, as if all it took for an Archie Bunker-type like him to become an immigration expert was a sojourn in Nogales. For all he does and the unbridled hypocrisy with which he does it, Ankarlo is the Valley's best bigot 'cause no one does bigotry better.

Around here, where political yella-bellies abound, picking the most egregious example of political poltroonery is rough work. After all, Arizona has a gutless attorney general who bends over when Sheriff Joe Arpaio institutes a bogus investigation of his office. And there's Arpaio himself, who wimped out of Guadalupe when the mayor there stood up to him, and who conceded Mesa to Police Chief George Gascón during the Sheriff's Office's anti-immigrant sweep in that city.

But nothing beats Mesa pantywaist Russell Pearce, a bigoted bully in the state Legislature who is used to getting his way. Pearce was looking to take on moderate Republican Jeff Flake this year for his District 6 Congressional seat, had an exploratory committee taking donations, and even started sporting a toupée in a lame attempt to compete with golden-boy Flake's toothy good looks. However, Russ' exploratory committee raised only about $24K, while Flake had a cool mil in the bank. And the state Republican Party was not enthusiastic about Russ' challenging the wildly popular Flake, so the big, bad Pearce pulled out. Um, wussed out is more like it. Since Pearce's term-limited out of the state House, he's running for the state Senate seat vacated by Karen Johnson. But if Russ'd been half the man he pretends to be, he would've stuck it out with Jeff Flake to begin with. In other words, look up the word "punk" in the dictionary, and (in a perfect world) you'd see a pic of Pearce.

Rumpled and occasionally gruff, Salvador Reza resembles at first glance some eccentric Chicano-studies professor, and if you let him, he can lecture with the best of them on the plight of indigenous peoples in the Americas. But Reza ain't no academic, unless you count his college as the struggle in the streets against the harassment and discrimination of undocumented workers. There he teaches regularly, usually with a bullhorn, all while going head-to-head with Sheriff Joe Arpaio, assorted Minutemen, and various other nativist numbskulls. Reza runs the Macehualli Work Center in north Phoenix, where he provides a place where jornaleros, or day laborers, can hook up with employers seeking short-term help.

The word macehualli means "those who deserve honor for their work," in Nahuatl, the language of the ancient Aztecs. And it is just that kind of honor and respect that Reza fights for regularly in civil rights marches, protests, and in speeches demanding same before the Legislature and the Maricopa County Board of Supervisors. Because he is both unafraid and unrelenting, Reza has become the man redneck nativists most love to hate. Hey, as far as we're concerned, you judge a man by his enemies. And if the toothless, ignorant KKK-wanna-bes spend every waking moment cursing Sal Reza, then you know he's doing something right. Keep doing your thing, Sal.

There's a list of public officials who've had the 'nads to stand up to Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio: Phoenix Mayor Phil Gordon, Guadalupe Mayor Rebecca Jimenez, Governor Janet Napolitano. But nobody did it with the panache of Mesa Police Chief George Gascón. Fueled by the immigrant fire in his belly, the Latino chief (a naturalized U.S. citizen from Cuba) made sure Joe didn't have his usual media field day. Not on Gascón's turf! Gascón set up a Mesa command post at the same location as Joe was planning to set up his. There were so many Mesa cops in the area that Joe's forces were stymied into playing it straighter than they usually do. The former L.A. assistant chief forced the MCSO to do something it's unaccustomed to doing — act somewhat professional.

When Gascón emerged from his mobile command trailer on the first day of Joe's incursion (aimed at busting any brown-skinned person Joe's troopers could racially profile for such heinous crimes as a busted tail light or a cracked windshield), the handsome Gascón was cheered like a celebrity. He grinned and waved to an adoring crowd, as a few nativist goobers scowled nearby (funny how the trailer-trash brigade that cheers Joe on didn't have the spine to come out en masse to Mesa). Meanwhile the — ahem — "toughest sheriff in America" hid out like a little girl in his Wells Fargo Center office downtown — far, far away from the action. Joe (or more likely his legion of highly paid PR flacks) realized he would contrast way unfavorably with the tall, silver-haired, immaculately uniformed Gascón, that Joe's pot-bellied 76-year-old countenance would be upstaged.

And upstaged he was! This was no Joe Show, this was The George Show. To avoid sunburn from the movie-star glow of this real lawman, whiny ol' Joke had to cower in fear from afar.

Public opinion, from anybody with half a brain, began to go bad for Sheriff Joe Arpaio's immigrant "sweeps" after he took his forces into the tiny town of Guadalupe. Before, Joe had gone to places where the legal citizenry was more likely to be non-Hispanic. It made it less obvious that he was racially profiling. But when he sent his deputies into Guadalupe, it became clear to any rational person that he wasn't just targeting illegal aliens but anybody with brown skin. The reason is that the whole town is populated by Latinos and Yaqui Indians, and the vast majority of residents are longtime American citizens.

In fact, so many citizens were detained by MCSO deputies in the Guadalupe raid that there no longer was doubt that Arpaio's troops would violate anybody's civil rights if it meant nabbing a single undocumented worker. And stop U.S. citizens his deputies did — for cracked windshields, headlights allegedly too dim, wide turns, improper license-plate coverings . . . you name it. And many of the citizens detained complained to federal authorities, who'd already commenced an investigation.

But what sticks most in our mind about the Guadalupe raid was the bravery of a small-town public official, a mayor who wasn't afraid to stand up for what's right. Who wasn't afraid to tell the mighty Joe Arpaio that he and his brown-bashing brown-shirts weren't welcome in her town. New Times published a photo of Rebecca Jimenez, back to camera, politely telling off an infuriated Joe. Hair awry, teeth gritted, waving his finger menacingly in her face, he's telling the soft-spoken Jimenez that — if his anti-Latino sweeps won't be abided in Guadalupe — he would rescind the law-enforcement services the town pays the MCSO to perform! And he and the county Supes announced just before press time that the county will make good on the threat. (That's another million bucks out of county coffers, but what does Joe care as long as he can preen to ignorant racists before TV cameras?)

Arpaio's threat isn't the only one Jimenez received because of her heroic stance. Anonymous cowards have threatened the now former mayor's safety in phone calls and e-mails. Unlike others who've bucked Arpaio (officials who have state and city police forces to back them up), Jimenez had but the slingshot of her own convictions.

We didn't think much of Barack Obama's chances of becoming president before he arrived at Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Phoenix on January 30. Because of one major obstacle: He's black. But Obama's like a lot of rock stars we've seen in our time — you don't really get him until you witness him onstage. It was such an experience at the coliseum that afternoon, when upwards of 20,000 people showed up to take in the Illinois U.S. senator and first serious African-American presidential candidate. Caroline Kennedy was there, so was Governor Janet Napolitano — up there on the dais with Obama, surrounded by screaming fans as Stevie Wonder played on the P.A.

What struck us about Obama was his cool as he riffed with the audience for an hour or so. No notes, no jitters, no sweat. In fact, we wonder whether he even sweats when he famously plays basketball games with campaign staff. This day, he bantered about hope, change, kindness, toughness, inclusion of all Americans in the system (the usual stuff), but it wasn't what he said that mattered. It was the style in which he said it.

He was the kind of speaker who won over voters that day with his elegant tone, the kind of speaker who thrilled the converted with his movie-star orations, the kind of speaker who didn't threaten the older white folks in the audience. President 50 Cent he wouldn't be. Past black presidential candidates, like Jesse Jackson, come across as insufferable hotheads compared to him; John McCain comes across as an insufferable hothead next to him.

It was if he were having an after-dinner conversation with us over a glass of brandy and a cigar, only there were many thousands of us, from floor to rafters. We felt reassured that he was somebody of substance, a characteristic we had questioned of this first-term senator before that moment. By the time we'd left, if we hadn't been jaded members of the press who needed to maintain our (um) objectivity, we would've admitted that Obama seemed wise beyond his political years, that he had charisma unseen in presidential politics since Ronald Reagan or JFK. We came away from the rally with the unspoken sentiment that we wouldn't want to be John McCain. Even then, it was clear that Barack Hussein Obama (despite the unfortunate middle name) possesses something Arizona's experienced senior senator will never have: commanding flair.

Why is the Maricopa County Sheriff's Office in Honduras training the national police there on the county taxpayer's dime, with expenses reimbursed by RICO funds? To hear Sheriff Joe Arpaio tell it, the program — authored, planned and approved by his Chief Deputy David Hendershott — was a gesture of goodwill to the Honduran government, so that they would pony up millions of photos for the MCSO's facial-recognition data banks. At last count, the program's cost the county more than $157,000 in man-hours and RICO reimbursements. But there's more: Hendershott approved hundreds of thousands of dollars in purchases of facial-recognition technology from a county vendor with which he has unexplained ties. Hendershott even pitched the technology to a representative of the European Union, and has been caught traveling to China and staying in the same hotel as the CEO of this same county vendor while there.

Hendershott has denied over and over that he has any investments in Honduras or in the vendor's business. But that photo of Hendershott in Honduras, wearing a Panama hat and a Hawaiian shirt, as if he were in a remake of The Island of Dr. Moreau, tells a different story. That photo is emblematic of just how wacked the MCSO has become. Hendershott is at the epicenter of this corruption, a venal, power-mad Jabba the Hutt beholden to no one. Not even Joe Arpaio, whom he manipulates like a moth-eaten marionette. Hendershott is the real power behind Joe's throne. But if Joe loses in November, Hendershott'll have to account to another boss for all he's wrought. Wonder if they make striped pajamas in Hendy's size?

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