FLY SWARM: Two crop-eating cousins of the Medfly have surfaced recently -- but not in Ventura County. . . . Three guava fruit flies were found in Pomona and four Oriental fruit flies were discovered in Walnut Park, both in Los Angeles County. . . . But hold the aerial malathion spraying, please. Instead, workers hand-spray a lethal mix of bait and pesticide that kills only the male flies.

FEELING GOOD: Tracy Sproule of Ventura completed the Gatorade Ironman Triathlon over the weekend, finishing 11th in the 18-to-24 age group (C6). . . . Triumphing over tough conditions, including brutal heat and winds during the race in Hawaii, was "one of the best feelings in the world," the 23-year-old said.

PLAZA ACCESS: Some Thousand Oaks residents worry that the Civic Arts Plaza isn't accessible to the disabled (B1). . . . In an Oxnard program designed to give the disabled greater access to public buildings, four volunteers have collected $75,000 in fines from motorists who park illegally in spaces reserved for the disabled. Now, officials are looking to expand the program. . . . "The community wins because they get money for access modifications," said Glenn McIntyre, an Oxnard police officer who uses a wheelchair and helps oversee the program. "And people with disabilities win because they get more open parking spaces."

A newly revealed side effect of malathion?Christopher Smith of Camarillo, the latest home of a gang of Medflies, picked up a flyer from GASP, whose letters stand for Group Against Spraying People. At least, we think they do. But the flyer used the word "Spaying."

*

Off the news rack: We were shocked -- shocked! -- to find photos of Police Chief Willie Williams in the National Enquirer and Star tabloids. It turns out they were merely shots taken at the Jack Webb Tribute, a fund-raiser for the Los Angeles Police Department's Historical Museum. Williams posed with a group of actors who had portrayed cops through the years.

But where was Lt. Frank Drebin of "Police Squad"? Probably got lost on the way.

*

Can't be too careful these days: Eva Hain alerted us to the fact that the LAPD has a little backup help at its substation in the Larchmont area (see photo). That's one subject TV hasn't tackled -- LAPD rent-a-cops.

*

Crystal unclear: Archie and Lois Hardy of Apple Valley sent along a copy of L.A. Cellular's Clear Talk, whose headline says people are buying cellular phones for "piece of mind."

Actually, we'd love to have given a piece of our mind to the slowpoke speaking into a car phone ahead of us on the freeway the other morning.

The Demento touch: The legacy of the late Jim Healy, the wacky KMPC sportscaster, lives on.

Whimsical Will Simpson is emulating Healy's use of news bites for comical effect in his broadcasts on the Dr. Demento radio show. Whimsical Will, whose "Demento News" segments can be heard on Sunday nights on 101.9 FM, also employs countless blurbs, including some from Healy's collection of utterances by Howard Cosell and others. (One of our favorites is honorary Hollywood Mayor Johnny Grant's quote, "Aw, blow it out," which he barked at some protesters.)

KMPC, meanwhile, is selling tapes ($12 apiece) of its entertaining 90-minute special on Healy, produced by Steve Bailey. Proceeds go to the American Cancer Society. (Information: 310-840-4914.)

*

Next the DMV will want an arm and a leg: Here's another slapstick story from the folks at the Department of Motor Vehicles, who occasionally issue driver's licenses with the wrong people's photos on them.

This one concerns the driver's license renewal form. Both Andrew Sincosky of West Covina and Leonard Martinez of Canoga Park noticed that their letters had lines of mangled type that gave the impression that, in addition to the usual fees, the DMV wants its ounces of flesh.

*

Which reminds us: Healy wouldn't have been surprised by USC's Nobel Prize. On his show, he regularly referred to USC football players as "The Brain Surgeons." Of course, he was a UCLA grad.

*

Can a crystal ball be subpoenaed?The front-page headline in the Weekly World News blares: "Nostradamus Predicted O.J. Verdict; Prophet Knew the Stunning Answer 500 Years Ago!"

And the verdict?

Dunno. We didn't shell out a buck for the answer. miscelLAny The Allied Driving School's ad in the Yellow Pages says: "Unmarked cars upon request."

Friday's long-awaited debate between Pete Wilson and Kathleen Brown was lively and illuminating, but by no means did it explore all the differences between the two gubernatorial candidates. Clearly the matter of debates should not be put to rest.

Brown has challenged Wilson to more debates but he has declined. The governor should reconsider. The issues in this campaign and the trade-offs for this beleaguered state are far too complex for the two to satisfactorily explore in just one hour. The people of California deserve another opportunity to hear them in face-to-face confrontation.

Speaking of debates, where are the folks from Philip Morris, R. J. Reynolds and the other large tobacco companies that are bankrolling Proposition 188? Apparently hiding behind that cloud of rhetorical smoke about "tough but reasonable" smoking restrictions.

The restrictions embodied in Proposition 188 would repeal all the truly tough local smoking ordinances already on the books. The measure would kill the farsighted statewide workplace smoking ban scheduled to take effect in January. In their place it would put -- surprise -- rules much friendlier to cigarettes. Cities, counties and the Legislature would be barred from ever adopting tougher rules to protect nonsmokers.

To Philip Morris and friends, the less said the better. No doubt that's why industry backers of the measure have declined almost all requests to debate its merits. They claim to be waging a "cerebral" campaign to educate voters. Looks more like they're trying to play with voters' heads.

We hope there will never again be a mass transit decision-making process that is as bitter and drawn out as that of the east-west San Fernando Valley rail project. Arguing over how to extend the Red Line subway across the width of the Valley has gone on for five years, and the matter may yet deteriorate into a swamp of legal challenges.

That would be sad, given the scarcity of transportation dollars and the Federal Transit Administration's recent order halting federal funds for the Red Line until construction and management problems are resolved. There must be no further delay in a decision on the Valley rail project. Fortunately, one option has emerged as the more sensible choice -- with a caveat.

When the Metropolitan Transportation Authority considers the matter late this month, it will have the choice of a subway route along Burbank and Chandler boulevards or an above-ground option along the Ventura Freeway. We strongly support the subway option.

Four years ago, in an advisory vote, residents favored the freeway route. But the best cost estimate for the subway then stood at $3.03 billion, compared to $2.59 billion for the freeway route. The most recent cost estimates, based on new engineering, have shaved the edge to less than 1%: $2.27 billion for the subway and $2.25 billion for the freeway route. The new estimates were part of the reason the Los Angeles City Council, following the lead of several of its members from the Valley, voted 11 to 1 Tuesday for the subway option.

The Los Angeles Department of Transportation says that the subway could be more easily integrated with existing bus lines, would create less traffic congestion and would be easier to construct segment by segment if funding problems arise.

In the event of another major earthquake, a separate subway and freeway would increase the chances of one surviving intact. Finally, $159 million has already been spent on subway rights of way.

The only caveat here is that the MTA must ensure that there be no repeat of the kind of outrageous tunneling problems that have marred construction efforts to date. Is that too much to ask?

Late last Saturday, after a dozen hours of pointed argument and negotiation, the U.N. Security Council unanimously approved a resolution condemning Iraq's movement of troops close to the Kuwait border and demanding not only their withdrawal but also that Iraq never again threaten its neighbors. Less than 48 hours later the consensus that put this resolution on record had fractured.

Russia, which had made no effort to mask its dissatisfaction with the resolution it found expedient to support Saturday night, discovers itself in deepening disagreement with the United States and to a lesser extent Britain over where U.N. policy toward Iraq should go next.

Russia's view, as expressed by Foreign Minister Andrei V. Kozyrev, is that the United States overreacted to what Baghdad intended to be innocent and routine military maneuvers in southern Iraq. Moreover, Iraq has made every effort to open up certain of its most suspect military facilities to U.N. inspections. Further, it says it is conditionally prepared to recognize Kuwait's independence, dropping its claim that Kuwait is a separated province of Iraq. Given this moderation, Moscow says, Iraq deserves to be rewarded. Russia wants the economic sanctions against Iraq eased. Specifically, it wants the ban on its oil sales lifted.

The American response, as forcefully expressed by Ambassador Madeleine Albright, is that "words are cheap. Actions are the coin of the realm."

Saddam Hussein trails a long and sordid record of meaningless promises and bogus assurances that can't be erased by yet more consoling lies and deceptive sweet talk. What Washington demands is full Iraqi compliance -- actions, not words -- with relevant U.N. resolutions. For starters, that means unequivocal recognition of Kuwait's independence and international borders. That, along with other appropriate unconditional actions, must precede any end to the embargo.

Iraq's rubber-stamp parliament had the chance a few days ago to renounce the claim to Kuwait. It didn't do so. Its deputy prime minister, Tarik Aziz, had the opportunity to underscore Iraq's honorable intentions when he spoke to the Security Council on Monday. He did not do so.

Russia has powerful commercial reasons -- Baghdad has promised it both debt repayment and lucrative contracts -- for seeking a softer approach toward Iraq. But Washington has a more compelling motivation for insisting that Iraq abide by the U.N. resolutions: Neither this country nor its allies want to fight a second Persian Gulf war in response to Saddam Hussein's hegemonic ambitions. That really is what the debate over lifting the sanctions is about.

The state controller is California's chief fiscal officer, signing the state government's checks, auditing the budget and helping oversee state pension funds. In this year's general election the two major-party candidates for the office are Democrat Kathleen Connell and Republican Tom McClintock.

The Times endorses Connell on the basis of her hands-on experience as a financial officer in the private sector and as a teacher on investment at UCLA and UC Berkeley. Connell's ideas for saving the state money through increased efficiency are also more doable than the provocative proposals that McClintock puts forth.

Connell won the Democratic primary by spending roughly $1.3 million of her own money. She became wealthy as an investment banker with her own firm and, before that, as a vice president of Chemical Bank in New York, where she advised cities and states on bond issues.

She proposes to help California deal with its fiscal woes by using some of the same tools of fiscal discipline that a private company would use if facing a budget shortfall of $5 billion to $6 billion such as that now looming for Sacramento. She promises that as state controller (salary $90,000) she would conduct an immediate performance audit to identify ways of reducing the deficit and launch an ongoing program of audits to continue searching out waste or fraud. In addition, she would implement performance-based budgeting for the state in a noble effort to hold departments and programs accountable under previously agreed-on standards of performance.

McClintock, too, has ideas for saving money in Sacramento, but they tend to be politically unfeasible -- and generally reflective of the rigidly right-wing reputation he developed during 10 years in the state Assembly. He would, for instance, abolish the office of lieutenant governor and most of the governor's Cabinet. He argues these positions represent a useless layer of bureaucracy between the governor (whose staff budget he would cut 15%) and the state agencies that actually deliver services. While thought-provoking, such ideas are far out, not to mention far off. For now California government needs to focus all of its creative energies and financial resources on just getting the bills paid. McClintock is an impractical choice for such a key office.

* At his farewell dinner, Sen. George Mitchell noted that holding public office doesn't guarantee wealth. In today's political climate it seems the question should be: Does wealth guarantee holding public office?

JOAN MILKE FLORES

San Pedro

* So Saddam Hussein has reared his ugly head again! Just as George Bush demonized this comic book villain four years ago, Bill Clinton is now taking his turn -- just in time for the November election.

The United States had no business getting into the Iraq/Kuwait conflict in 1990. I was part of the 10% who opposed the Gulf War. I am proud that my wife and I spent every weekend at the Federal Building in Westwood protesting this unjust, unnecessary war. The U.S. succeeded in killing 100,000 Iraqis, unfortunate people who didn't choose Saddam as their leader and had no way to get rid of him. This was clearly wrong.

Since the Gulf War, the supposed "alternative" -- as if the situation is the U.S.' to fix -- has been economic sanctions. This policy hurts the people of Iraq. Our government can take responsibility for Iraqi children who face malnutrition, inadequate medical care, and shortages because goods can't get into the country. The embargo should end immediately.

I urge President Clinton to drop the embargo against the Iraqi people and to withdraw all U.S. troops from the Middle East. The U.S. is not the world's policeman.

TED BROWN

Pasadena

* Flashback: George Bush commits troops to Desert Storm; assures American people that oil is not the issue but rather the restoration of the legitimate government of Kuwait in the name of justice.

Present: Bill Clinton commits troops to the restoration of the legitimate government of Haiti; is pilloried for jeopardizing American troops in the absence of a threat to national security interests.

Flash forward: Demands are made on the Clinton Administration to commit troops to Kuwait to protect the oil reserves in the name of our national security interests.

ROBERT B. SILVER

Los Angeles

* Regarding your editorial, "Clinton Said 'No,' and Saddam Blinked," Oct. 11:

I think not. Clinton is still dealing with a military deck that Ronald Reagan provided, you know, in those greedy '80s, when he and his wife were trying to become millionaires in one-party Arkansas.

The military was made strong again, first rate, in spite of the protests of the liberal Democrats in Congress.

Don't you think it strange that the liberals who were so against the Gulf War, when George Bush was President, are now strangely silent, as Clinton tries to increase his poll numbers. Haiti. A great foreign policy victory? No. Just danger for American kids.

RICHARD L. SWIFT

Covina

* Tell me, why were the Republicans not screaming for a "consent of Congress" before Clinton sent 36,000 troops to oil-rich Kuwait, where the danger to the men and women of our military is far more real than it ever was in Haiti? Can anyone doubt that the trillionaire Emir of Kuwait thinks of Uncle Sam as "Uncle Sucker"?

BILL LIVINGSTONE

Santa Barbara

* Ross Perot's paranoid warning that President Clinton's strong response to Iraq's troop buildup along the Kuwait border is nothing but a ploy to gain strength in the upcoming election (Oct. 10) proves what many have suspected all along -- that Perot is not only inane, he is insane. I hate to think what would have happened to the world if Perot had been President in 1940.

JACK ALLEN

Pacific Palisades

* Was Saddam Hussein really "naive" to think that he could shake off sanctions by dispatching his troops to the border? The last six months have been witness to a parade of renegade leaders who, strangled by global sanctions, have touched off international incidents to gain a bargaining chip. And whether it was Kim Il Sung, Fidel Castro or Raoul Cedras, the U.S. has gladly gone to the negotiating table with them.

Perhaps Saddam was logically expecting Jimmy Carter to ride to his rescue.

BYRWEC ELLISON

Lakewood

* The second coming of Saddam Hussein is the lesson that we seem unwilling to learn. Nearly all wars are caused by the ambitious self-love of one man. Saddam's single voice now summons us again to war as he luxuriates in fame.

No longer can we hope that diplomacy, negotiations and compromise with another nation will substitute for individual redress. Instead, a world court must charge this man with crimes against humanity; arrest, convict and banish, not kill, but keep as living evidence of our determination to end war, the vice of the emperors.

Orderly progress is man's destiny. It will come when we establish a process that anticipates and suppresses these individual scourges of our future.

SID O'NEIL

Alamo, Calif.

* The Times report on the Unocal oil spill in San Luis Obispo County ("Setbacks Slow Cleanup of Huge Oil Spill," Oct. 11) ignores several essential aspects.

In accordance with the Federal Oil Pollution Act of 1990, the lead agency for the response to the spill is the U.S. Coast Guard.State agencies are participating in the cleanup pursuant to that law and to formal agreement with the Coast Guard. The Times did not make this clear or quote a single federal official.

By the same logic that Gov. Pete Wilson should personally receive criticism for the conduct of the Department of Fish and Game, should not President Clinton be held responsible for the specific actions of the Coast Guard? Obviously not. In the case of the state, this matter has been directed continuously by experts on the scene with oversight by and communication with other supervisory officials as appropriate.

Despite the fact that over 34,000 gallons of diluent have been recovered thus far and that our eventual efforts will prevent a much greater quantity of this substance from reaching marine waters, critics complain that we have acted too quickly. Yet, they fail to cite specifically the environmental harm of the cleanup. Nor do they offer any alternative to the current course of action. Even the chemist whose study they cite stated: "They're (the responding agencies) doing a very good job. . . . It has been a very successful project."

The state is dedicated to an aggressive and open multi-agency response to the spill and the pursuit of all legal remedies against the responsible party, Unocal. Why does The Times insist on giving credibility to unsubstantiated charges by those who only want to play politics?

PETE BONTADELLI

Administrator

Office of Oil Spill Prevention

and Response, Sacramento

* Thank you for your editorial, " 'Three Strikes' Worries" (Oct. 12). This isthe biggest overreaction to a social problem that California has ever seen. What the public does not think about is the long-term impact of the law on everyone's civil liberties and the systems that we all use.

Not only will the "three-strikes law" destroy a declining education system, but I am told that no civil cases will be heard in the Santa Monica courts and Los Angeles will be permanently backlogged. Californians will have to pick up the AFDC costs for children whose mothers and/or fathers have been sentenced to life.

I administer a nonprofit organization that provides long-term transitional housing for men and woman veterans who have histories of substance abuse. In the past few weeks we have received several calls from veterans in jail who could be facing 25 to life. One caller explained that he had been a heroin addict since he was 14. He had a dysfunctional family and had been locked in closets by his mother when he was a child. He began to cry when he said, "I am not a criminal, I am a heroin addict with behavior problems and I don't deserve to spend 25 years to life in prison because my substance abuse problem has never been addressed. I have never hurt anyone except myself."

He told me that the prison system did not address substance abuse and that he used more drugs while inside prison than he did when he was on the outside. He was begging me to help him get a chance at getting clean and sober and to live a productive life.

The people of California have convicted and sentenced every veteran, disabled person and poor soul, who was not given a chance at life with loving parents and a support network. This population was doomed at birth, and the residents of the Golden State will sacrifice their children's education, the justice system and the quality of life to make sure that everyone, not just violent offenders, is sent away forever. I agree that violent offenders should be given maximum sentences, but Proposition 184 is overkill and residents of California will pay the price for life.

TONI REINIS

Executive Director

New Directions

Los Angeles

The award of the Nobel Prize in literature to Japanese author Kenzaburo Oe is extremely timely, coinciding with two major events in this extraordinary writer's life.

A brief background: Anyone who has ever read him knows that Oe the writer is inseparable from Oe the father. His son Hikari, now 31, was born with severe brain damage and remained mute until he was 6. And ever since Oe decided to bring him up as a normal human being, Hikari has been in every page of his work as in every minute of his life.

For Oe, speaking on his silent son's behalf by turning him into an ever-present character as his double has been his most important reason for writing fiction. The son has been studying music for many years, and some time ago he began to compose, although his speech and movement have been limited throughout. Only a few weeks ago, Hikari completed his second CD of pieces for piano and flute. This recording, like his first one, promises to be a great success among music lovers of Japan, answering Oe's lifelong hope for finding a voice for his voiceless son.

As a writer, Oe has just finished the first draft of his huge trilogy, "Moeagaru midori no ki" ("A Green Tree in Flames," named after Yeats' poem), which he insists on calling his last novel. As he tells it, now that Hikari can express sadness and happiness in his own full "voice," Oe's ventriloquist role for his son is ending. As Hikari gradually gains independence, Oe feels his presence receding from the pages of his narratives. The time has come for him to quit his fiction, as Oe describes it. As if to celebrate this moment of fulfillment, the English word " Rejoice! " concludes the first draft of the last part of his "last" work. This event -- the completion of the novel and the public renunciation of fiction -- occurred a mere several weeks before the Nobel award was announced.

The award is also timely because Oe's recognition abroad will reawaken the Japanese readers who have lately been, though thoroughly respectful, neglecting Oe's intellectual and literary achievements. Oe is too difficult, they complain. Their fascination has been with vacuous manufacturers of disposable entertainment, including the "new voices of Japan," like Haruki Murakami and Banana Yoshimoto.

Actually, the malaise of Japan may be more critical. There has been little probing of contemporary Japan's cultural life. The kabuki and flower arrangement continue, of course, but neither new novelists nor social analysts are emerging who seriously question Japan's preoccupation with buying and selling, except among some women writers. By emphasizing Japan's homogeneity and proclaiming the "spirit of harmony," mainstream critics and scholars refrain from self-analysis. Convinced of Japan's "uniqueness," commentators often fail to articulate Japan's position in the world.

The Japanese government curiously -- and shamefully -- has yet to honor its native son Oe in any form. The Ministry of Education is hastily forming a committee, according to the Asahi newspaper, to consider the possibility of conferring the imperial Order of Culture on this "controversial" author, now honored by a Nobel. When a quiet inquiry was made, Oe firmly expressed his intent to decline the offer. His reason was that the state-initiated Order of Culture was against his idea of democracy. Oe's decision may encourage those in Japan who are still grappling with life's big questions and the world's lasting problems.

Oe is a formidable scholar. He reads Dante in Italian, Confucius in Chinese, Faulkner in English, Rabelais and Sartre in French, the formalists in Russian and "The Tale of Genji" in the original. And he remembers everything. Once, I was with him visiting a university rare-book collection. Visibly excited over the discovery of a rare facsimile edition of William Blake's long poem, "Jerusalem," he began to recite it from memory. I left him alone with an astonished librarian, and the recitation was still going when I returned. Of course, learning by itself does little good to anyone. Oe, however, never leaves knowledge distant from the opinions he forms and actions he takes in thought and in his everyday life. He is a thoroughly engaged man, regularly speaking up for Japan's minorities and protesting its political system.

There are few translations into English and other Western languages of this remarkably prolific writer. His language and style are said to be complex and difficult, nearly untranslatable, and potential translators seem frightened away. Those who do read him will find his mythological cycle not just sober and speculative, but saturated with cosmic laughter and grotesque humor.

Many of his short stories are as funny as they are accessible. There is no reason why there can't be many more translations of his works. There are indeed very few writers now in the world who can compare with him in candid description, complex ideas, bold imagery and sudden illuminations and a probing sense of history and justice.

Oe has long had the habit of spending hours literally talking to trees. When he visits a new place, for example, he often walks along in the woods and groves, stopping to gaze from time to time and bending down to pick up a fallen leaf and guessing the tree's identity, origin and history. He can cite the names of almost all the trees in the world in Japanese, English and Latin. Oe calls trees his friends. I wonder if this prize will place him among the men and women of Asia and other parts of the world outside Japan so that the world may know him as closely as Oe knows it.

I'm riding along in my car against the background noise of a radio talk-show host working up her audience over the prospect that a sex offender might be living nearby. The discussion centers on the federal crime bill, which encourages police to pass out photos and addresses of anyone in the neighborhood who has been previously convicted of molestation. (California has gone further by dispensing names, ZIP codes and photos of sex offenders to any and all who might ask.)

The host's diagnoses range from "monsters" to "scum bags" and her policy proposals range from leafleting to the death penalty. Then, a soft-spoken male caller offers a simple solution: Sex offenders should be made to wear large identifying tags around their necks, with immediate imprisonment should they be caught without them. "You know -- like Hitler did with the Jews."

A brief silence follows and the host moves on to other matters.

For the past decade, I've been treating these "perpetrators," as the stilted language of law enforcement puts it. They usually suffer from one or another of the 50 so-called sexual paraphilias. Few are strangers to their victims. Most are friends and family members who have harmed their own. Few are violent, and unlike demons, they tend not to fall out of the sky.

I think of Sean, a 14-year-old hockey and baseball player who wants desperately to be straight and macho but who, from age 11, has been attracted to younger boys. Hiding this from his family, his jock buddies and himself, he clings to the hope that all will eventually be well. Then one day, a tease turns serious and Sean and a 10-year-old boy are involved in month-long series of convoluted sexual encounters. Sean is arrested, and though he is being effectively treated, will probably carry the label of sex offender for the rest of his life.

Then there was Pablo, a handsome 15-year-old from Central America convicted of fondling a 13-year-old girl at a swimming pool. As his treatment unfolds, familiar patterns emerge: abandoned at age 6 by his homosexual father (who had not molested him) only to be sodomized at age 9 by his mother's new, otherwise aggressively heterosexual husband.

Bill, 24, was questioned by the police after he approached a 12-year-old boy. "If you have a problem," they said, "we'll help you find treatment." Weighed down with the guilt of unwelcome impulses since puberty, Bill unburdened himself -- revealing a secret sexual encounter he'd had with a boy five years earlier. He didn't mention his more fearsome secret -- that he had been sodomized by his older brother two or three times a week from age 8 to 13. He feared the revelation would destroy his mother and jeopardize his brother's career as a Marine fighter pilot. Bill's treatment turned out to be a 10-year sentence to the state penitentiary.

Take 26-year-old Scott, who came to us charged with sexual assault. The incident arose out of a consensual bondage scenario with his girlfriend that suddenly turned violent. He had no history of sexual offending. However, as a teen-aged juvenile he was sentenced to an adult prison for burglary. Two months later, he was gang-raped. His inability to fend off his attackers anointed him a cell block "punk." For the next three years, he was made to serve on demand the sundry sexual needs of straight, non-sex-offender inmates. Scott returned to the streets transfixed by violent sexual obsessions.

The painful dilemmas that wind their way through these lives are seldom well-addressed through the criminal-justice system and even less so through vigilantism. John Money, the eminent Johns Hopkins University researcher studying sexual compulsions, summarized it best. "The adversarial system for the treatment of paraphilia by means of prosecution and punishment," he said, "must be pronounced an abject failure."

Despite the popular view that sex offenders are untreatable, research shows otherwise. Studies done in Canada, California and Vermont demonstrate that appropriate treatment can substantially cut the chances of a sex offender re-offending. Unfortunately, in the current national hysteria, a troubled pedophile dare not talk much about himself or his past without a high probability of his therapist reporting him to the authorities. The risk doesn't end there.

Take 13-year-old Troy, grossly sexually abused by a 25-year-old friend of his older sister when he was 11. Shortly thereafter he attempted the same thing with his 8-year-old sister. He was locked up for a number of months, then released for treatment at a local mental health center. The adolescent group members had to begin each therapy session with this mantra: "My name is ------. I am a sex offender and I will be one for the rest of my life." The ritual troubled Troy and he asked his mother, Why? The therapist told her that she had seen it on "Oprah."

Understandably, sex offenders anger us. But often our reaction seems to go beyond indignation and taps more primitive impulses. Indeed, the first recorded execution of a youngster in this country involved a 17th-Century Massachusetts farm boy who was discovered engaging in sexual play with one of his pet animals. The teen-ager was forced to watch as his pets were hanged one-by-one in front of him, after which he was himself dispatched on the gallows.

In the end, all the hot lines, leaflets, talk-show kitsch and vigilantism won't slow the rate of sexual abuse. Precisely the reverse. As troubled individuals are tagged and driven from neighborhoods and families and friends and slip into that nether world of isolation and trance that feeds perverse fantasy, sexual offending can only grow more dangerous and egregious.

Cornflakes so remind me of the powerlessness of poverty, the worst of my memories of beingone of five children of poor parents, that I cannot eat them. Neither commercial nor generic cornflakes exist in my universe, because they take me back too far.

My father was a laborer with an elementary-school education and tremendous pride. Too frequently, he was temporarily laid off, for periods sometimes as long as a year. During periods of layoff, he devised alternate ways to produce income to support his family: He scavenged for old radios to repair and sell, he worked in carwashes during Philadelphia winters when no one else wanted to. He took any odd jobs that came up. When the jobs got too odd and too far between, he resorted to bartering. A neighborhood grocer, Mr. Birrell, would take an old electric mantel clock as collateral for food, on my father's promise to pay with cash when his situation improved.

Mr. Birrell got to dictate the kind and quality of the goods he would exchange for the mantel clock. In a way that would never happen when my father was using cash for his purchases, Mr. Birrell would direct my father to get the largest box of cornflakes, a package of bologna or hot dogs, a loaf of bread, a large can of baked beans. If these provisions ran out before my father could scare up more cash, he would send one of us kids to Birrell's with a note, and Mr. Birrell would package up more of the same. He did not look pleased to see us and our brown paper missives.

I was about 8 when I made a serious connection between cornflakes for three meals a day and my father's bleaker moods, to which my mother paid careful attention. We kids had to not be aggravating, and my bag lunch would have dreaded boiled-egg sandwiches and little else. Then there was the time that Mr. Birrell hesitated to take the clock, even for cornflakes. Mrs. Birrell, who worked alongside her husband, slicing hams and salamis at the front of their narrow crowded store, had seen my mother emerge from the newly opened rival market across the street (closer to our house by several crucial steps after a long summer day folding hot sheets in a commercial laundry) with a grocery bag. Why wasn't Birrell's good enough for our cash, Mr. Birrell wanted to know. I don't remember what my dad said to ensure that his children ate, but he got the cornflakes. I used to wish that he argued about his right to shop wherever he chose or that he wrapped that clock back up in its old towel and left. Of course, had he done that, there would not even have been cornflakes.

I have wrestled with the demon fear of poverty

that alternately haunted me and fueled my efforts to build a life that might foreclose any resort to cornflakes. It took major inner resources and secrecy to live with a temporary need for food-stamps and Medi-Cal in my 20s. That was not something I could tell the proud man who reared me with constant reminders not to be "beholden to others." I lost weight and sleep trying to resolve the conflict between relief and trepidation that accompanied my petition to the Oakland school district for my daughter to get reduced-cost school lunches during the lean years when I was earning my undergraduate degree. I hobbled through parts of my education pridefully rejecting financial aid, mouthing the justification that somebody needed it more than me.

Finally, in my fifth decade, with the daughter building her own future, I can live with a temporarily empty refrigerator without apprehension. When my checking account has $3.45 in it, I don't think,

nor do I wonder who else thinks that it is evidence of the capriciousness of my character that I could spend close the bone. I am pleased that my daughter had no idea we were so poor when she was growing up that some evenings she had dinner when I did not. She thinks our lives were interesting. We got by. We thrived.

But the line is drawn at cornflakes. They taste like poverty. The mental and spiritual weight of a soggy bowl of cornflakes is just too much. I have hedged on the frequent question, "How did you . . . " because "By not eating cornflakes" seems such a frivolous answer. But there are moments when it feels like too long a look back might derail forward progress. I make some talismanic connection between not eating cornflakes and whatever success I can claim in this life. As long as there are no cornflakes in the cupboard, the risk of poverty is averted, and I have control of my destiny. I believe in this particular magic.

OK, let's get all the Rolling Stones jokes out of the way. Let's call them the Geriatric Stones . . . the grandfathers of rock . . . and what have you.

*

Ha ha.

The group -- whose core members Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Charlie Watts and Ron Wood are either approaching 50 or past it -- are targets because rock 'n' roll isn't supposed to be an old man's game.

It was designed as an expression of youth and it has generally been at its most captivating when being reinvented by fresh voices, a role the Stones long ago conceded to such younger forces as U2, R.E.M. and Nirvana.

But it was hard to find any derisive laughter among the 55,000 fans at Jack Murphy Stadium on Monday as the Stones kicked off their tour's Southern California swing.

The crowd was too dazzled.

Against all odds, the Stones are a band that refuses to roll over.

Thirty years after making its U.S. debut just up the road in San Bernardino, the landmark British outfit defied the rules of rock longevity with a show that, on balance, was even stronger than 1989's triumphant "Steel Wheels" outing.

In some ways those dates seemed a last hurrah, a lavish spectacle in which the band played most of its classic hits with unbending professionalism and skill. What was left? "Steel Wheels II"?

The surprise is that the new "Voodoo Lounge" tour is more inviting on every level -- from more alluring staging to a generally more satisfying selection of songs. Most disarming of all: the renewed passion of the band members and the good-natured way they confront the aging issue.

The show opened with the Southern California debut of Seal, the British singer/songwriter whose 1991 hit, "Crazy," was an inviting calling card. But his melodic blend of funk, pop and rock seemed largely lost in the vast stadium setting. His smaller theater tour later in the year will be a better test of his performing strengths.

Then the Stones took over.

"I'm gonna tell you how it's gonna be," Jagger declared teasingly in the first line of "Not Fade Away," the 1964 hit that opened the two-hour set. The still lean, athletic singer delivered the lyric with such biting authority that he mocked the idea that this is a band living on borrowed time. His words, in effect, were a vow that the Stones can still entertain and excite.

And Jagger said it with the confidence of a man who has learned night after night on this tour, which began in August in Washington, D.C., that he is right.

The audience erupted with applause and cheered even louder when the band followed with one of its classic concert numbers, "Tumbling Dice." Through the rest of the evening, they touched on a lot of other trademark tunes, from "Start Me Up" and "Sympathy for the Devil" to "Brown Sugar" and "Street Fighting Man."

If that sounds like too much of a sentimental journey, the band played with a fire and command -- bassist Darryl Jones filling in ably for the retired Bill Wyman -- reminding us that they are masters of the rock form. The support cast -- keyboardist Chuck Leavell, a four-piece brass section and two backup singers -- added punctuation that was consistently spicy and precise.

Augmenting the music on this tour: lighting that's frequently as colorful and disarming as a carnival midway, and equally striking video effects on overhead screens. The latter range from appealing computer animation sequences to clips of old screen darlings (Shirley Temple to Betty Boop) during "Honky Tonk Women."

*

The most captivating moment visually was during "It's All Over Now," when the Stones used the video screen to make another wry commentary on the aging issue.

Normally, the stage action is projected in color on the screen so that fans in remote areas of the stadium can better see what is happening on stage. However, for this song, the images were in grainy black and white, giving the impression that we were watching vintage footage from the '60s. It was so effective that you had to turn to the live action to make sure the video image actually was reflecting what was happening on stage.

The illusion only worked because the band was playing with such vitality and joy, negating any audience disappointment that it wasn't really the '60s Stones on stage. No small feat.

The band members are more comfortable and relaxed on stage than at any time since the '70s. Jagger still struts at times like an overactive marionette, but he seems less the frontman caricature that he was in the '80s. Richards, too, jumps at times with such enthusiasm that you'd think he was standing on a trampoline as he played guitar.

The show's weakness was some of the new material. In their only sign of timidity Monday, the Stones seemed unwilling to take a chance on slowing down the blistering pace.

This caused them to turn to some of the weakest songs in the new "Voodoo Lounge" album, including "You Got Me Rocking" and "I Go Wild" -- generic reworkings of traditional Stones rave-ups. The band could use its time more convincingly by turning instead to some of the new album's softer tunes that have a bit more imagination and charm, such as "Sweethearts Forever," with its Drifters-like innocence, or "Brand New Car," with its wry blues sass.

For the most part, however, the band delivered a show filled with more than enough richness and heart to live up to its remarkable legacy. All geriatric joking aside, this group still deserves proudly the name Rolling Stones.

* The Rolling Stones play tonight and Friday with the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Buddy Guy at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, 7 p.m. Tonight sold out. Friday, $55 and $39.50. (818) 577-3100.

Lenny Bruce would have loved "Clerks." Rude, boisterous, obscene and irreverently funny, it has all the crude energy and delight in life's profane chaos that the celebrated comedian found so irresistible.

One of the discoveries of last year's Sundance Film Festival (where it shared the Filmmakers Trophy) and later a prize-winner at the International Critics Week at Cannes, "Clerks" is also an example of what is best and most hopeful about the American independent-film scene.

Made in grainy black and white on a skimpy budget of $27,575, "Clerks" is the inspiration of 23-year-old Kevin Smith, who wrote, directed, co-edited, co-produced and even found time to play a cameo as the laconic Silent Bob.

Sporadically employed himself as a convenience-store clerk, Smith did more than write a script based on his own cool and crazy life behind the counter; he actually filmed it in the Quick Stop in Leonardo, N.J., that hired him, shooting after it closed each night at 10:30 till the small hours of the morning.

But "Clerks" is not just a case of poor movie makes good. For Smith, a film-school dropout who used part of his tuition to finance his debut, has an anarchic gift for sketch humor and the raunchy banter of guys just hanging out. Though the politically incorrect language is tough enough to have earned "Clerks" an initial NC-17 rating (re-rated R on appeal), its exuberance gives it an alive and kicking feeling that is welcome and rare.

Simply structured as a day in the life of clerk Dante Hicks (Brian O'Halloran), Dante's saga begins unexpectedly with an early morning call from his boss telling him he'll have to open the store even though it's Saturday, his nominal day off.

Conscientious to a fault, Dante is unknowingly embarking on a spell of nonstop harassment and humiliation that leaves him understandably muttering, "bunch of savages in this town."

On the professional side, the Quick Stop's obstreperous customers subject Dante to a flood of eccentric behavior, from pelting him with cigarettes to scrutinizing every egg in the case to wanting the simultaneous use of the employees' bathroom and a choice porno magazine.

Paralleling this are Dante's romantic problems. His stand-up girlfriend Veronica (Marilyn Ghigliotti) brings him homemade lasagna for lunch, but outrages Dante with revelations about her past sexual habits that lead to one of the film's funniest colloquies.

And Dante can't get his mind off his ex, the glamorous Caitlin (Lisa Spoonauer), even though they broke up years ago and she cheated on him 8 1/2 times while they were together. What was the half? A drunken tryst with Dante in a darkened room when she thought he was someone else.

Providing an ironic Greek chorus to all these woes is Dante's best friend, Randal (Jeff Anderson), the clerk at an adjoining video store whose stock is so feeble Randal himself rents elsewhere. A prankster and instigator, Randal believes in abusing his customers whenever possible and encourages Dante to be more aggressive in his dealings with the public.

Though Randal and Dante are the center of "Clerks," Smith has a profligate eye for odd and curious characters, and appearances by a manic drug dealer, a smug personal trainer and an intense Russian named Olaf who is desperate to play metal, are among the film's zany highlights.

Cast with either non-professionals or actors with no more than local experience, "Clerks" is unapologetically rough and even ragged at times. But its lack of circumspection turns out to be its charm. Unabashed and unashamed, "Clerks" is always itself, and that is something of an accomplishment.

* MPAA rating: R, for explicit, sex-related dialogue. Times guidelines: Raunchy, cheerful street language is the rule.

'Clerks'

Brian O'Halloran: Dante Hicks

Jeff Anderson: Randal

Marilyn Ghigliotti: Veronica

Lisa Spoonauer: Caitlin

Jason Mewes: Jay

Kevin Smith: Silent Bob

A View Askew production, released by Miramax Pictures. Director Kevin Smith. Producers Scott Mosier, Kevin Smiths. Screenplay Kevin Smith. Cinematographer David Klein. Editors Kevin Smith, Scott Mosier. Music Scott Angley. Running time: 1 hour, 29 minutes.

* In limited release in Southern California.

Basketball is not just a game. The quintessential city sport, played with reckless passion on random patches of concrete, it classically offers a way out of poverty for its best players, but there is more.

When it's used right, basketball can also provide a way in for those who have the wit to use it, a chance to dramatically combine the excitement of competition with a provocative look at the complexities of urban life. And "Hoop Dreams" certainly does it right.

A 2-hour, 49-minute epic that zips by like a fluid fast break, "Hoop Dreams" has taken a simple concept and, by a Horatio Alger combination of luck, pluck and pure hard work, turned it into a landmark of American documentary film.

By focusing on the personal side of the city game, "Hoop Dreams" tells us more about what works and what doesn't in our society than the proverbial shelf of sociological studies. And it is thoroughly entertaining in the bargain.

The trio of filmmakers (Steve James, Frederick Marx, Peter Gilbert) responsible for "Hoop Dreams" made it the old-fashioned way: refusing to stint on time spent with their subjects, a pair of promising teen-age Chicago basketball players, they shot some 250 hours over a five-year period, staying with the young men from before their high school careers to what transpired after graduation.

The result is a film as rife with incident, with the ups and downs of outrageous fortune, as any Victorian triple-decker novel. By adroitly eavesdropping on reality, the "Hoop Dreams" team rooted out the kind of unvarnished home truths that make for the most engrossing viewing.

Where luck enters the equation is with the players selected. Both William Gates and Arthur Agee are but 14 years old when "Hoop Dreams" begins, just out of grade school but already good enough to dream of the money and glory of an NBA career. And the cameras are present when Earl Smith, a neighborhood talent scout, discovers Arthur on a local court. "I don't know anything about him," Smith says, "but I'll bet you a steak dinner in four years you'll be hearing about him."

Either or both of these kids could have proved to be duds on the court as well as ciphers as human beings, but it is the great good fortune of "Hoop Dreams" that the reverse is true. Explosively talented players who are willing to be honest in the face of the camera, their life paths turn out to be unpredictable and intensely human, with the agonizing drama of victory and loss on the court always present to add zest to the mixture.

Both William, a smooth natural leader, and Arthur, whose talent is undeniable but rawer, are actively recruited by St. Joseph High School and its cantankerous coach, Gene Pingatore. The alma mater of the NBA's Isiah Thomas and a perennial basketball power, St. Joseph's tranquil suburban location requires adjustments for both boys that range from three hours of commuting time to demanding academics and the novelty of spending time with white people.

Since the pleasure of "Hoop Dreams" lies in discovering what happens to William and Arthur as their lives unfold, giving away any more of their stories wouldn't be fair. Interspersing interviews with parents, siblings, friends, coaches, counselors and others with talks with the boys themselves (plus liberal amounts of game footage), each subject's particular mixture of disappointment and joy becomes involving in a way fiction often is not.

What is worth pointing out are the meaty themes "Hoop Dreams" touches on, one of the pivotal ones being the thoughtless way these kids are fed into the omnivorous machine that is big-time sports.

While bringing talented city kids out to St. Joseph's may seem like a win-win situation, it soon becomes obvious that both the school and the boys' mentors have agendas that do not necessarily put the welfare of their players first. "We don't understand what we're really doing to these kids," says a rival coach, and the truth of that is much in evidence.

But though the pressures placed on these kids are severe, "Hoop Dreams" emphasizes why they try to endure. For both William ("This is my ticket out of the ghetto") and Arthur ("Nobody is going to take my dream away from me"), basketball is the only thing they can have pride in, the only place where they can see their presence making a difference.

In plain contrast to the sense of hope basketball engenders is the grinding nature of the poverty the boys' families, both their fierce and protective mothers and their troubled fathers, have to contend with. Without any sense of special pleading, "Hoop Dreams" underlines the difficulties of making something of yourself in an indifferent system, helping us to understand Arthur's mother when she bares her heart and says, "Do you wonder sometimes how I am living? It's enough to make you want to lash out and hurt someone."

In the end, we feel we know both William and Arthur and their lives in a way only a film like this can manage. When the final crawl lets us know just what both men are up to today, audiences talk, marvel and express concern, just as they would with their own friends, and there is no better gauge of "Hoop Dreams' " considerable accomplishment than that.

* MPPA rating: Unrated. Times guidelines: It includes street language and situations. 'Hoop Dreams'

A Kartemquin Films and KTCA-TV production, released by Fine Line Features. Director Steve James. Producers Frederick Marx, Steve James, Peter Gilbert. Executive producers Gordon Quinn, Catherine Allan. Cinematographer Peter Gilbert. Editors Frederick Marx, Steve James, Bill Haugse. Running time: 2 hours, 49 minutes.

* In limited release in Southern California.

Who among you hasn't dreamed of having your most influential teacher return to bestow approval on your achievements, of having the master appear to validate the path you have chosen? Exactly that happened to chef Pascal Olhats Monday night when his mentor, celebrated French chef Paul Bocuse, was honored at a special dinner at Olhats' restaurant.

More than 100 guests came to Pascal to see Bocuse, to purchase signed copies of his new book, "Regional French Cooking," and to eat a dinner inspired by recipes from his three-Michelin-star restaurant just north of Lyons on the banks of the Saone, where Olhats says he spent two of the happiest years of his life.

At 69, Bocuse remains the most famous chef in the world, the ambassadeur of French cuisine, a regal, commanding figure in his chef's whites. He also is a most quotable man, as he demonstrated when he got up to address the crowd of eager diners, between the crayfish and veal courses.

*

"France wouldn't be what it is today," he intoned in French, aided by translator Steven Brauer of Mumm's Champagne, "if it weren't for June 6, 1944." Bocuse has a good reason to be so resolutely pro-American: He was severely wounded during the war, and an American transfusion helped saved his life.

The dinner was an unqualified success. Olhats paid homage by attempting to duplicate Bocuse's famous soupe aux truffes , crowned by a pastry hat of the sort Bocuse created for then-French President Valery Giscard d'Estaing in 1975. I am lucky enough to have eaten Bocuse's own version in France, and I shall never forget the experience. This one may not have been as chock full of foie gras or as redolent of shaved black truffle as the prototype, but no one was heard complaining.

There followed a light gratin of crayfish and lobster, a tasty veal chop with chanterelle mushroom and a quirky white chocolate interpretation of an Opera cake with homemade vanilla bean ice cream. Throughout most of the evening, Bocuse stood beaming near the entrance to the kitchen, his white toque perched upright atop his head. Occasionally he would sit to sign his book or to autograph copies of the evening's menu, speaking pearls of wisdom.

*

Answering questions from admiring guests, he proved as masterful at the art of conversation as he has proved in the kitchen. Asked by a health-conscious gourmet about the harmful effects of butter and cream, he scoffed: "Nous sommes cuisiniers, pas medecins " (we are chefs, not doctors). Touche and amen. Bocuse has built a life around simple, rich cooking. If you have to ask, you'd better not indulge.

You can catch chef Bocuse at a special dinner in his honor tonight at the new Citation restaurant next to Hollywood Park in Inglewood or Thursday night at Pinot restaurant in Studio City.

Failing that, have Pascal prepare one of the Lyonnaise-style dishes that surface from time to time in his restaurant.

POP/ROCK

Trial Date Set: A Los Angeles judge on Tuesday set a trial date of Jan. 13 for rapper Snoop Doggy Dogg and two co-defendants accused of killing a man in the Palms area last year. A grand jury has indicted the rapper, whose real name is Calvin Broadus, along with McKinley Lee and Sean Abrams for murder in the 1993 shooting death of Philip Woldemariam, 20. Lee, Broadus' bodyguard, has acknowledged shooting Woldemariam, but claims the action was in self-defense. Broadus is accused of driving the Jeep from which the shots were fired.

*

UK/LA Concert Canceled: The British Consulate has officially canceled the planned "Prince's Trust Benefit Concert" which was to have taken place at Universal Amphitheatre on Nov. 3 as part of the citywide UK/LA Festival. The concert would have been the first U.S. pop concert under the Prince's Trust, which has previously organized several charity concerts in London. No lineup was ever announced for the performance, but the event was included in the magazine-sized UK/LA Festival brochure. A consulate spokeswoman said funding for the project "fell through" when organizers could not finalize plans to televise the event. The cancellation did not entail any conflicts with the schedule of Prince Charles, who is still expected to attend several UK/LA events.

*

Suicides Follow Cobain: Three young men whose bodies were found Sunday in a storage facility near Vancouver, Canada, apparently killed themselves in despair over the April suicide of Nirvana lead singer Kurt Cobain, police said. Two bodies were found in a car inside the facility and the third was alongside. The men, in their late teens or early 20s, appeared to have been dead at least a week from carbon monoxide poisoning. Notes in a diary found at the scene suggested they were depressed over Cobain's death. "They were upset about it. When Cobain died, they died. It's very sad," a police spokesman said.

*

Courtney Carries On: Cobain's widow, rock musician Courtney Love, gives her first print interview since Cobain's April suicide as the cover story for the Rolling Stone issue due on newsstands Nov. 29. Meanwhile, "Live Through This," by Love's band Hole, has been named the best album of the year by the editors of Spin magazine, who also selected Smashing Pumpkins as artist of the year. Hole performs at the Hollywood Palladium on Nov. 9. RADIO

New Station: A new National Public Radio affiliate will debut Thursday serving Ventura County and broadcasting contemporary jazz as well as standard NPR news and cultural programming. KCLU-FM (88.3) will sign on at 5 a.m. Thursday and stay on the air daily till midnight. The station will be broadcast from the Thousand Oaks campus of California Lutheran University. MOVIES

Spielberg Unites Rival Studios: Steven Spielberg will team with Universal Pictures and Warner Bros. to produce "Twister," a script by author Michael Crichton and his wife, Anne-Marie. The script, about scientists who track tornadoes, was sold during the weekend for $2.5 million, sources said. It is not yet known whether Spielberg will also direct the movie. The deal was the last studio project OK'd by Spielberg before announcing last week that he will form a new partnership with fellow entertainment moguls Jeffrey Katzenberg and David Geffen. Under terms of the "Twister" deal, rival studios Warner Bros. and Universal will split the movie's costs and profits and flip a coin to decide distribution rights. THE ARTS

NAACP Theatre Nods: The Doolittle Theatre's staging of "Five Guys Named Moe" scored again on Tuesday, winning more of the annual NAACP Theatre Award nominations (13) than any other show. Last week, the production won the highest number of Ovations Award nominations. The double honor may pose logistic problems for the "Moe" nominees; both awards ceremonies are scheduled for the same night -- Nov. 14. The NAACP honors take place at Hollywood's Roosevelt Hotel, with special award winners including actors Glynn Turman and Dick Anthony Williams. QUICK TAKES

Fox plans to air "The O.J. Simpson Story" at 8 p.m. Nov. 22 -- if jury selection in Simpson's murder trial has been completed. The movie was originally set for Sept. 13 but was delayed after pleas from the defense. . . . Rush Limbaugh has extended his Multimedia TV contract through the 1997-98 season. The program is the current leader of syndicated late night shows. . . . Fox has canceled its 8:30 p.m. Sunday-night baseball sitcom "Hardball." The show will be replaced with reruns of "The Simpsons." SHAUNA SNOW

Will Scheffer writes terrific monologues, judging from Program B of the HBO New Writers Project Festival, at the Stella Adler Theatre.

*

Three of Scheffer's monologues, performed by different actors, make up the second half of the program. They're funny, lyrical, captivating. Each is about a gay character, and the first two characters are marginally connected by the same psychiatrist and by a key image of a fiery dance. Yet the characters are distinctive enough to ward off any sense of sameness.

In "Alien Boy," Daniel Parker plays a plump and precocious 13-year-old son of a Holocaust survivor. He's just beginning to realize he's gay, back in the "Boys in the Band" era. It entices and frightens him, and it interests him a lot more than the Judaism he rejects. The script's only dubious device is to dress this kid in a cutesy sailor suit.

Gerry McIntyre appears in "Fire Dance," which is about a black drag queen who leaves the profession after his mentor is in an accident. It's a stylish piece. But Scheffer's best work is his last, "The Falling Man," about a ballroom dancer (Michael Malone Starr) who loses his virginity on the same night he's declared cha-cha champion of the world. He also contracts AIDS soon thereafter, but he tries to discover as much excitement in his new "falling" state as he found in his sure-footed dancing days. Beth Milles directed Scheffer's work.

*

Most of the first part of Program B is devoted to "The Answer to My Prayer," by Nancy De Los Santos. It's a mildly amusing account of a single Latina's search for Mr. Right, abetted by a prayer from her late grandmother and the ministrations of some elderly cousins. Ada Maris is a sympathetic presence as the woman beset by cartoonish creeps, but the script seldom strays from the predictable. Tony Plana directed.

Dwight Okita's brief anecdotal monologue, "The Spirit Guide," performed by Steve Park, opens the program rather inobtrusively with a tale of a man's encounter with a friend who claims to have a pipeline to God. Cathleen Fitzpatrick directed.

* HBO New Writers Project Festival, Program B, Stella Adler Theatre, 6773 Hollywood Blvd., Today - Friday, 8 p.m. Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes. Programs C and D continue through Oct. 30. Each program, $11. (213) 466-1767.

Alan Ayckbourn has been called the Neil Simon of England.

*

Well, they both can be very funny. But Ayckbourn takes another step. He's often cerebral. That means that he often asks the audience to use their minds, and their imaginations.

In a program note for the original production of "Taking Steps" at his own theater in Scarborough, England, Ayckbourn said, "This is, I hope, a play you can enjoy on several levels at once." He was being facetious.

There are three settings in the play: an attic, a bedroom and a lounge, and the connecting stairs and passageways. And the rooms occupy the same space, with action sometimes taking place in two or all three simultaneously.

The titular taking of steps is by the actors seeming to climb stairs, descend them and, once, even fall down them, while rushing from one room to the other, ignoring the characters in the other rooms, who actually are in the same room they are in, except they're on different floors. For Golden West College's production, Charles Davis' setting works efficiently on all its levels, even squeezed together.

Ayckbourn's conceit is an amazing piece of theatrical organization that is clear as a bell in operation. Simon doesn't have the typically British sort of mind that not only would be fascinated by this visual conundrum but would be interested in taking the effort Ayckbourn did to put it all together so beautifully.

Steven Paul Schwartz, who directs this stylish production, obviously does have a similar mind, along with other insights into the levers and cogs that tick-tock inside a British comedy. His timing and rapidly shifting rhythms are just right for Ayckbourn's madness.

*

The plot is negligible: A woman (Jennifer Severance) is about to flee the coop just as her husband (Steve Silva) is buying a country house. Her brother (Darren Zinzer) is staying at the house, waiting for his fiancee (Debbie Gerber), who isn't keen on their relationship. There's also the husband's gormless solicitor (Mark Krumme) and the leather-clad biker son (Steve Guerrero) of the home's previous owner.

It is a first-class farce, with mistaken identities, wrong overnight bed partners, all accomplished with the dead seriousness the genre requires.

Zinzer and Severance as the siblings have the lightness and crispness usually required of Noel Coward, and couldn't be better. Krumme is as obtuse as a British junior solicitor can be and manages to be funny even when he's not speaking. The tone of Silva's husband is a bit heavy-handed at times, without the froth that makes the others sparkle.

*

Except at the Sunday matinee, when other actors take the parts, Gerber is a sullen delight as the reluctant fiancee, and Guerrero, with excellent timing, is often quite funny, though his trying to make a juvenile Colonel Blimp of the biker seems odd -- a simple wealthy, if slightly coarse, young sprout would better fit Ayckbourn's writing and probable intent.

* "Taking Steps," Stage West Studio Theatre, Golden West College, 15744 Golden West St., Huntington Beach. Thursday-Saturday, 8 p.m.; Sunday, 3 p.m. Ends Sunday. $9. (714) 895-8378. Running time: 2 hours, 25 minutes. Darren Zinzer: Mark

Jennifer Severance: Elizabeth

Mark Krumme: Tristam

Steve Silva: Roland

Steve Guerrero: Leslie Bainbridge

Debbie Gerber: Kitty

A Golden West College Fine Arts Division production of Alan Ayckbourn's comedy. Directed by Steven Paul Schwartz. Scenic design: Charles Davis. Lighting design: Jon Limbacher. Costume design: Susan Babb. Sound design: David Edwards.

"An Italian Straw Hat," the zany 19th-Century French farce by Eugene M. Labiche, has over the years been remade into an operetta, a movie, even several stage adaptations. Yet the language of this warhorse has probably never looked as good as in the winning new tour by the National Theatre of the Deaf.

The story -- a silly bit of business about a bridegroom who struggles to make amends after his horse eats a lady's hat -- has enough twists and turns to tax any company. Yet director-adapter Kenneth Albers has found bold ways to mix spoken and signed words, reaping humor and visual invention from what might have been a mannered, burdensome device.

The breakneck pacing demanded by farce sometimes overwhelms even this incredibly well-rehearsed cast. But for the most part, Albers' "Straw Hat" is still a treat for the eyes and, yes, ears.

A reviewer can only imagine how a person without hearing perceives the show (which played over the weekend at Occidental College and moves later this week to Rolling Hills Estates, San Diego and Costa Mesa). Many audience members at Occidental's Keck Theater signed their applause by raising their arms in the air and waving their fingers like so many rows of wheat.

The production has special charm for a viewer who can hear. Victor Becker's fairy-tale set is dominated by a miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower, which serves as the perch for Maestro (Ira Mitchell), a one-man synthesizer-and-drum band of director Albers' ingenious devise. Mitchell sails through the near-impossible job of providing music, sound effects and certain character voices during virtually every scene.

Maestro, along with the valet Felix (Brian K. Jennings), serves as the show's link to the aural world. Albers wittily drives home the point when Felix declines to step in and help a character with a broken leg, explaining, "Sorry, Frank, I'm just your voice." (Amazingly, this same character seems to have been given a French accent -- in sign language.)

The sonic accompaniment just adds another rich layer to the show, which in its expressive movement and demonstrative acting reminds one of the silent film comedies of Chaplin or Keaton.

As the rich hero Fadinard, Robert DeMayo betrays his training as a mime with a beautifully acrobatic performance. His eyes alone say more than most actors' entire bodies. Meanwhile, Anthony Natale steals his scenes as Achille, a fey poser in a blonde wig.

General audiences may be tempted to shun a work like this one because of the company's name. But notice that it's a troupe of the deaf, not exclusively for the deaf. Anyone with an abiding interest in theater should see what they have to say.

* "An Italian Straw Hat," Thursday-Friday at Norris Theatre, Rolling Hills Estates, (310) 544-0403; Saturday at UC-San Diego, (619) 534-6467; and Sunday at Orange Coast College in Costa Mesa, (714) 432-5880. Running time: 2 hours, 5 minutes.

First produced in the early 1960s, Bill Naughton's "Alfie" is a natural for a revival. Resiliently funny and moving, full of high spirits and low humor, the play concerns the lubricious exploits of Alfie Elkins, a commitment-phobic Cockney lorry driver whose determined detachment and indefatigable sexual appetites prove a dangerous combination.

Adam Faith, who recently completed a tour of Britain in the title role, stars in the current Los Angeles production, which is part of the UK/LA Festival.

Although initially a play, "Alfie" is best known as the popular film of the mid-1960s, starring Michael Caine in a definitive performance that ranks among the very best ever committed to film. Caine's anti-heroic shadow in the role looms large over Faith. More intrinsically offhanded than Caine's, Faith's Alfie is far more the romping puppy dog, indiscriminately chewing the slippers of every female within his territory, whereas Caine's seducer, all hooded eyes and dodginess, is as directed and reptilian as a striking snake.

Then there's the question of Faith's age. In his 50s, Faith hovers dangerously on the cusp of caricature with his portrayal of what should be an eager young stud-about-town. Still a fit, attractive man, Faith manages to squeak by and remain convincing in the role, but his years lend the play a completely different resonance. Although it may not be what Naughton originally intended, that's not necessarily bad. Faith may be a long-in-the-tooth seducer, but he is inarguably more pitiable in the role.

Faith, who co-directs with Katya Nelhams-Wright, is accustomed to wearing many hats. A British pop star of the early 1960s, Faith has subsequently enjoyed success as both an actor and financial columnist.

Although Faith shows palpable promise as a director, this particular hat is still a loose fit. In a production as brisk and straightforward as Alfie's sex drive, Faith and Nelhams-Wright elicit no-frills, assured performances from their talented cast. Catherine McGoohan is particularly fine as Lily, the mousy married lady whose dalliance with Alfie results in an agonizing back-room abortion. Also a standout is Judy Geeson as Alfie's middle-aged lover, Ruby, whose randy amorality rivals Alfie's.

However, with his own performance, Faith needs a stronger directorial hand to draw out the subterranean impulses that motivate Alfie's behavior. Faith plays his laughs well, but it is only in the final scenes of the play, when Alfie is forced to confront the destruction he has wrought, that Faith unleashes his dramatic capabilities in a viscerally affecting scene.

Despite its faults, the production provides a welcome opportunity to rediscover the late Naughton's talent. Trapped in an ossified class system, Naughton's characters find recourse in humor and sex, the time-honored indulgences of the poor. Although we may be troubled by Alfie's amorality, we appreciate him as a rich comic creation, very much the product of his time -- and ours.

* "Alfie," Tiffany Theater, 8532 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood. Thursdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 5 p.m. Ends November 20. $22.50-$25.00. (310) 289-2999. Running time: 2 hours, 48 minutes.

Browsing the vast residue of world art can give the brain claustrophobia, like a library out of shelf space. To deal with this overload, the mind simplifies treasures into categories and categories into cliches.

Um, let's see -- African art is sort of blocky, pre-Columbian tubular and squat while Oceanic leans to the spiky. Such pigeonholes have their uses but are inherently confining. That's why exhibitions such as two new ones at UCLA's Fowler Museum of Cultural History are so bracing. They let fresh air into the attic of perception and rearrange the old furniture.

Titled "Arc of the Ancestors" and "Gift of the Cotton Maiden," they present venerated objects from Indonesia, a geography rarely the subject of aesthetic scrutiny, despite being the fourth most populated place on the planet and the largest of Muslim nations. Sailing off the southern coast of continental Asia, it's an archipelago consisting of more than 13,000 islands.

They spread across the map in an upward-smiling curve. Aptly enough that curve is a leitmotif of Indonesian art. According to art history professor Jerome Feldman, the show's curator and author of the informative catalogue, the curve turns up in everything from saddle-shaped roofs to dagger hilts. Sure enough, it does.

Aside from that, the exhibition tends to throw viewers a bit of a curve of its own. The art's purposes are familiar enough. These 70-odd objects donated from the collection of Jerome L. Joss involve the veneration of ancestors, encouragement of fertility, celebration of harvest and the rest of the earthy and sidereal themes typical of such magical art.

It's their form that challenges preconception. Lovingly patterned surfaces seem to combine Oriental refinement with the ferocity of objects from the Sepik River region of New Guinea. It's as if Indonesia remembered the high cultures that flourished in Java and Sumatra in the 12th and 14th centuries, and before that the presence of Buddhist and Hindu influences, not to mention the residue left behind by such colonialist powers as Portugal, the Netherlands and Japan. When you add this historical palimpsest to the polyglot of local-dialect styles that make up this art, it's a marvelous melange.

A decently cultivated viewer might get a mental toehold on all this by remembering the elegance of Javanese rod puppets. In fact the most spectacular work in view is a puppet, but of a very different sort. Called a Sigalegale, it was fashioned by an artist of the Toba Batak people of North Sumatra and depicts a near life-size male figure carved from wood dressed in a robe and turban-like hat. (In woollier days the head was covered in human skin or fashioned from a real skull.)

He stands atop a decorated wooden box containing the complex mechanism that runs him. He can dance, blink or even weep, all apparently unaided because the operator sits at a discreet distance.

His job is to soothe the spirits of those who died childless. He symbolizes all the substitutes people use for unborn offspring -- art, pets, dolls, cars. . . . He is Pinocchio eternally promising Geppetto that some day he'll be a real boy.

Indonesian art has a knack for this kind of archetypal imagery. A pair of carved wood male and female ancestor figures from the Nage of Flores Island look at once like infants and adults. Depicted nude, they have large round heads, simplified features and minimal emphasis on gender differences. Their artist imbued them with a combination of innocence and savagery that is both Shakespeare's Calaban and Freud's Id.

Textiles are generically less directly expressive than figurative objects, but anyone who appreciates the form, likes abstract art or wants to flesh out their impressions of Indonesian society shouldn't pass up the Fowler's companion exhibition.

Organized by the museum and assembled by curator Roy Hamilton, "Gift of the Cotton Maiden; Textiles of Flores and the Solar Islands" is the first comprehensive show ever devoted to the subject. Its 288-page catalogue is richly illustrated and redolent with revealing stories. One tells of an Indonesian group who regards the normally esteemed weaver as bearing a curse.

Generally the "Cotton Maiden" is valued as a practitioner of women's most important work. Making sarongs and shawls is venerated as an important source of income and prestige since the items play an important role as brides' wealth. Designs passed down the generations are so distinctive it's possible to tell where a person comes from by the pattern of their garb. When girls are old enough to undertake weaving they dance the streets with anklets of cotton balls.

It's surprising that such lush objects can be fashioned from humble cotton. Patterns are so finely calibrated and hues of burgundy, indigo and saffron so sonorous the textiles look heavily textured.

Taken together the exhibitions evoke a culture in some ways richer than our own. Like other peoples we have had the arrogance to call "primitive," Indonesians manifest a mentality innocent of our myriad mental pigeonholes.

The concept of dualism is strong in the archipelago, but otherwise practical life and myth are equally alive and real. The categories we use to separate the arts from one another and denigrate them to the status of fictive entertainment seem nonexistent. They live vividly blended and equal.

* UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History, to April 9, closed Monday and Tuesday (310) 825-4361.

HISTORIC ROADBLOCK: A well-known World War II bunker in the path of proposed homes near the Bolsa Chica wetlands has been temporarily saved from destruction. . . . "It's a historical resource," says Paul Lusignan, keeper of the National Registry of Historic Places, which recently declared the structure eligible for listing. The finding stops the bulldozers for now. But Lucy Dunn, a spokeswoman for the developer, Koll Real Estate Group, says it's confident it can build homes there eventually.

LEAF BUILDING: Those people at the Tree Society of Orange County say they're back in business for spring planting, thanks to corporate donations. The society has awarded grants to groups for three major tree-planting projects this fall. . . . Groups can apply for spring planting grants of up to $1,000 through the Arboretum at Cal State Fullerton. The only catch: The trees must be planted on public property like a campus or park or along a city street.

STILL KICKING: The New York Giants released veteran punter Sean Landeta early last year, convinced that his best days were behind him. He's proving them wrong. . . . Landeta, immediately picked up by the Rams, is the third-best punter in the conference this year, with a 44.3-yard average -- just three-tenths of a yard behind leader Greg Montgomery of the Detroit Lions. . . . And the Giants' punter, Mike Horan? A distant 10th, at just 40.8 yards. Landeta probably wouldn't mind if the Rams wound up in Baltimore -- he lives there in the off-season.

HARD TIMES: The Rams don't want to play at Anaheim Stadium; the Angels can't play there until the strike ends. And now the Big A has even lost that humorous, struggling baseball franchise from Fox TV's new Sunday night show "Hardball," according to Daily Variety. . . . It says "Hardball," which had outdoor scenes shot at the Big A, has fallen victim to low ratings, despite a power lead-in show, "The Simpsons."

Katella rallied in the first game and cruised the rest of the way, sweeping host Cypress in Empire League volleyball Tuesday.

The Knights (7-4, 4-1) trailed, 14-8, in the first game before scoring the next eight points to win, 16-14.Cypress struggled the rest of the match, losing the last two games, 15-7, 15-8.

In the first game, Katella's Kellie Alva had seven kills and Rachel Nelson added four, including two to end the game.

Katella took a 6-5 lead in Game 2 and didn't look back, scoring the last six points of the game. Lisa Kornely had three aces and Silvia Parak added one kill down the stretch.

The Knights jumped to a 7-1 lead in Game 3 before the Centurions (3-6, 3-2) rallied to trail by one, 7-6. But the Knights held strong again, scoring the last four points to win, 15-8. Alva finished off Cypress with three consecutive aces.

The Centurions were led by senior Julie Adams, who had 13 kills, including six in Game three, and Michelle Woiemberghe, who had six kills, five in the first game.

The Knights, who took over sole possession of second place, one game behind Kennedy, got 15 kills from Alva and eight from Nelson. JON CLIFFORD

A study released today predicts that passage of Proposition 187, the anti-illegal immigrant initiative, will hasten the spread of tuberculosis in California because immigrants will be afraid of contacts with medical authorities.

The research, led by a USC team and based on data gathered in Los Angeles County, already is fueling concerns in the medical community that Proposition 187 will drive illegal immigrants underground because it would require health-care professionals to report undocumented immigrants to the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service.

"If we were to try to implement (Proposition 187), we would decimate our clinics," said Dr. Shirley Fannin, who leads the public health fight against tuberculosis and other infectious diseases as chief of disease control programs for Los Angeles County. "The secret of not having these people become a problem to themselves or others is the early discovery and management of the disease. If you scare people away or make them frightened, they aren't going to come in early."

Fannin said she also fears that passage of Proposition 187 could trigger the revival of other diseases, such as long dormant strains of syphilis that haven't been common in California for 50 years, or lead to a re-emergence of the measles epidemic that peaked in 1990 and killed 41 Californians, 34 of them preschool-aged children.

The new study found that under current law most undocumented immigrants with tuberculosis believe that they are safe from deportation when they seek medical care.

Even so, 6% of those with active tuberculosis who told researchers that they did not have immigration documents said they delayed care because of fear that they would be reported to immigration authorities, said the authors of the study, published today in the Western Journal of Medicine.

If a measure such as Proposition 187 were to pass, that percentage would rise, leading to the spread of the disease, the scientists predicted. The authors said that "any increase in the fear of immigration authorities" by patients "is likely to increase the delay between onset of symptoms and first contact with the medical care system."

"Because each patient possibly exposes an average of 10 contacts to the disease during the course of delaying care, such an increase would spread tuberculosis beyond those who delay," the study said.

The study, drafted by a team of USC and UCLA researchers led by Dr. Steven Asch, a faculty member at the USC School of Medicine and an internist at County-USC Medical Center, said that the longer people with active tuberculosis delay treatment, the more likely it is that they will spread the disease.

The publication of the report just a few weeks before the Nov. 8 election landed with a predictable political bang.

Dr. Ralph Ocampo, president of the California Medical Assn., a statewide organization of physicians opposed to Proposition 187, cited the study in once again criticizing the measure for attempting to put physicians in a conflict of interest position with their patients by requiring doctors to report people they even suspect of being illegal immigrants to immigration authorities.

"Using health-care facilities at all as a detection site is immoral and flies in the face of what the medical profession should stand for all over the world, which is that we take care of sick and injured people first," said Ocampo, a San Diego surgeon. "If there is a question about legal status, let that be handled by the appropriate authorities but not by health-care professionals."

Gov. Pete Wilson, an active supporter of Proposition 187, said through a spokesperson that if the measure passes, he will continue to provide those services that are necessary to protect the public health.

"This is a problem that exists today and will exist in the future whether or not Proposition 187 passes or fails," said Leslie Goodman, an assistant chief of staff for Wilson. "We don't know what the potential consequences might be."

Goodman, who in the past has criticized opponents of the initiative for using scare tactics, said, "You have to question the motivation of this group in putting out this study."

The journal is published by the California Medical Assn. and represents a consortium of 10 western states. Paul Moreno, a spokesman for the CMA, said the study was started 2 1/2 years ago, before Proposition 187 got on the ballot.

The report's authors do not cite Proposition 187 by name, but instead refer in the report to "legislation" and the "immigration initiative."

Among the questions researchers asked of the people they interviewed who had active tuberculosis was: "Were you afraid going to the doctor might cause trouble with immigration authorities?"

The researchers found that "few patients feared that seeking care would result in difficulties with immigration authorities" and that most seemed aware that health-care professionals did not report information on residency status to the Immigration and Naturalization Service.

Fannin and other health-care professionals say they have spent years cultivating that trust. In the arena of public health, they say the reason for that is to protect society at large as well as the individual.

"Disease does not check on someone's immigration status and the disease controller had better not," Fannin said.

The issue is important because the study found that 71% of the 313 patients who agreed to be interviewed reported that physicians discovered their tuberculosis when they sought care for one of the classic TB symptoms: coughing, fatigue, fever, swollen glands or weight loss.

The study examined 526 active cases of tuberculosis reported to the county's Tuberculosis Control Registry between April and September, 1993.

Researchers said the county was an ideal target for such a study because it "lies at one of the epicenters of the tuberculosis epidemic -- second only to New York City."

They said further that "unlike the nation as a whole, immigrants make up most of the active tuberculosis cases in Los Angeles."

In its latest update, the Los Angeles County Department of Health Services said that 1,940 active cases of tuberculosis were reported in the county in 1993. That figure is down from 1992, when 2,198 cases were reported, but up dramatically from the 1,190 cases discovered in 1988.

Using phone numbers and addresses from the county's Tuberculosis Control Registry, the researchers wrote and phoned people with TB. Because many are transients, efforts were made to track them down in soup kitchens, shelters and a special clinic for the homeless.

Ultimately, the researchers got the cooperation of 313 people, 69% of whom were immigrants. One-fifth of the respondents said they were in the country illegally.

"Tuberculosis in Los Angeles County is definitely a disease of immigration," Asch said.

Whether they came into the country with the disease or picked it up here was unclear, he said.

Superior Court Judge Lance A. Ito stunned O.J. Simpson's defense team Tuesday by declining to set a deadline for the completion of DNA tests, then temporarily halted jury selection because he is concerned about the impact a splashy new book could have on the case.

Although Ito has generally favored prosecutors in the face of repeated defense attempts to suppress evidence and invalidate searches, his ruling on the proposed deadline took many by surprise. In two separate court sessions last week, the judge had expressed his displeasure with the pace of prosecution testing and with its arguments justifying delays.

He had strongly indicated that he would impose some sanction, raising defense hopes that he might rule in that side's favor this time.

Instead, he found that although there were delays, there was no evidence of bad faith on the part of prosecutors. That clears the way for DNA testing of almost two dozen items -- including a bloody glove found outside Simpson's home -- to continue without the threat of a deadline from the judge.

"The defense is sort of stunned and disappointed by the ruling," Simpson attorney Johnnie L. Cochran Jr. said outside court. "We expected, based upon the judge's statements last week, perhaps a far different ruling. . . . We can't explain the ruling."

Ito had barely resolved that issue before he waded into another. Reacting to a newly released book purporting to detail the last months of Nicole Brown Simpson's life, the judge ordered a temporary halt to jury selection, sending members of the jury panel home until Thursday. O.J. Simpson has pleaded not guilty to killing his ex-wife and Ronald Lyle Goldman, whose slashed and stabbed bodies were found June 13.

The book, co-authored by a friend of Nicole Simpson's and a National Enquirer columnist, was released this week. Ito received a copy Tuesday morning and said its publication has raised new concerns about Simpson's ability to get a fair trial.

Exactly what Ito can do about the book is unclear. But when he spoke to prospective jurors Tuesday afternoon, the judge used his strongest language yet to suggest that he might order the jury sequestered. "Those of you who serve on the case may be de facto incommunicado for a significant period of time," Ito told prospective jurors during a solemn session.

In the meantime, Ito changed his admonition to the panel. Where previously he had asked the prospective jurors to avoid coverage of the case, he modified that order to insist that they avoid all television and radio broadcasts as well as all newspapers and magazines.

At that point, Deputy Dist. Atty. Marcia Clark requested a word with Ito. After a brief discussion with Clark and defense lawyers, Ito turned again to the potential jurors and added: "I neglected to tell you: You are to stay out of bookstores."

The release of the book -- a salacious and in many ways unverifiable account titled "Nicole Brown Simpson: The Private Diary of a Life Interrupted" -- was the latest disruption in a jury selection process that has moved haltingly since questioning began last week. The questioning has moved far more slowly than Ito had anticipated and has been stopped twice, once because a prosecutor fell ill and again Tuesday because of Ito's concerns about the book.

Although some analysts suggested that Ito had overreacted to the book, others said the judge had acted prudently in the face of a complicated problem. "What he's saying is, 'Let's take the most protective measure we can without going to sequestration yet,' " said Laurie Levenson, a Loyola law school professor. "I would say he has his hands full here."

Even as jury selection has progressed, Ito and the attorneys for both sides have grappled with a host of other issues, the most significant of which was a potential deadline on the completion of DNA tests.

Nearly two dozen blood samples from Simpson's home and car were at risk after defense attorneys charged that prosecutors had delayed tests to gain a tactical advantage. Despite Ito's efforts to elicit an explanation from prosecutors, Deputy Dist. Atty. Lisa Kahn struggled last week to offer a rationale for why certain tests were not begun until three months after blood samples were first recovered.

During two hearings last week, Ito appeared displeased. At one point, he warned prosecutors that they were about to lose the argument. That heartened defense attorneys, who believed the judge was about to rule in their favor.

In a three-page ruling, however, Ito reiterated his observation that there were delays in testing but said the defense had failed to produce evidence that the delays were intentional. That came as a great relief to prosecutors, who could have lost significant evidence if Ito had set an early deadline for test results.

"We're pleased that the judge understood that the people are proceeding in good faith in an expeditious, ethical and scientifically prudent manner while responding to repeated defense motions regarding evidence," Suzanne Childs, a spokeswoman for the district attorney's office, said Tuesday.

Led by Barry C. Scheck, a Simpson lawyer who specializes in DNA issues, the defense had argued that Ito could infer bad faith from the delays. But the defense team did not offer direct evidence of misconduct -- letters or testimony, for instance, showing that prosecutors had deliberately stalled rather than pressing ahead with testing.

"The mere fact that the prosecution waited until the second week in September does not, standing alone, establish bad faith in the context of the unique facts and circumstances of this case," Ito ruled. "Both sides are now hurtling towards the evidence presentation phase of this litigation without a clear and precise view as to what the scientific testing of the physical evidence will reveal, and both sides are in this position as a matter of choice."

Legal experts were generally unsurprised by Ito's decision, noting that the judge could not impose the sanctions sought by the defense unless he found specific bad faith on the part of prosecutors.

"Apparently he didn't find that, and as frustrated as he was about the delays, he could not impose a cutoff unless he found evidence of deliberate bad faith," said Gerald Chaleff, a prominent Los Angeles defense attorney. "Absent a showing of bad faith, there really is no sanction."

UCLA law professor Peter Arenella agreed. Without direct evidence of misconduct by prosecutors, the defense was left to argue that Ito should base his ruling simply on an inference, he said. And that fell short, Arenella added, because the delays arguably were as inconvenient to prosecutors as they were to defense attorneys because they mean that both sides are forced to prepare without a full set of scientific results.

Although the ruling was the day's most important substantive development, the uproar surrounding the release of the book delayed the proceedings and caused Simpson's lawyers to publicly state that they believed their client's right to a fair trial was in jeopardy.

"The proceedings today have left a very dark cloud over our system of justice," said Robert L. Shapiro, one of Simpson's lead attorneys. "I have been concerned for a very long time about whether O.J. Simpson would have a very difficult time getting a fair trial based on all the media attention. Events of today have convinced me O.J. Simpson cannot get a fair trial, and it concerns us greatly because so much effort has been put into this by both sides."

The book -- co-written by National Enquirer columnist Mike Walker and Faye D. Resnick, a friend of Nicole Simpson's -- hit bookstores this week amid great fanfare. Ito directed his clerk to secure a copy so that he could review it and determine whether any adjustments needed to be made to jury selection as a result of its publication.

After reviewing the book Tuesday morning, Ito addressed prospective jurors after the lunch break. Although he did not name the book, Ito told members of the panel that it "has caused the court deep concern about Mr. Simpson's ability to get a fair trial."

Resnick's book is replete with allegations against O.J. Simpson, many of them based on what she said were private conversations with his ex-wife. Resnick repeatedly states that she believes O.J. Simpson is responsible for the June 12 murders.

At one point, Resnick writes that Nicole