2008-01-17 - 10:48 p.m.

Our glorious young-ish mayor, Gavin Newsom, has just been sworn in for a second term. The usual ragbag of weirdos were his only contenders in the race, and he won by a landslide, as the least despicable worm in the bucket. He is handsome, and this matters in a gay-controlled City Hall. He is also thin, very cool!

Of course, our Mayor is not just a pretty boy. He can talk. And talk and talk and talk... yes, he reminds me of myself, and all the great tourguides who never get tired of talking, day in and day out. Perfect training for the politician's life, when you think of it - work as a tourguide, know your local history and facts, and spew them out blind. This is GAvin's style: a man with perhaps a photographic memory, an ability to shoot out statistics without referring to notes at a stupendous rate. I have witnessed him doing this in public speeches on two occasions, and I must hand it to him: he can talk, and he can memorize facts. When one knows that he is dyslexic to boot, then it's amazing. On the other hand, are the figures he's stating correct? Who cares? Who's listening? It's a game?

As for his personal life, he is now in Rehab this last five months, and no mention has been made that he is done with his afternoon visits down at Delancy Street. Of course, the latter is not AA, rather a place, a hangout, for ex-felons, on parole, who must check in regularly and so on, or be sent back to jail. In a sense, he must relate, but I do not see how it cures alcohol addiction, his very own admitted problem. Apparently it erupted from his own lips when he was caught, or rather outed, by his ex-lover, his erstwhile appointments secretary, incidentally his campaign manager's wife. This quick scurry over to Rehab was to cover all sins. Why we should care about his Clintonesque inclinations (at least he's not gay, tittered most...although it could cover that up, too...)is unclear to any true SF lover. We are the citizens watching in paralyzed agony as the murder rate rises, 98 dead last year, the crime rate soars, the police remain disabled by ACLU, the homeless thrive, the citizens lock every door, the streets crumble, the alleys stink, and the budgets go warpo.

Ah! But not to worry! He's here, ready for another go-round, but with bride at his side. Wife #2 is a Marin county actress, Ms. Siegel, 33, of wealthy parents. They were engaged in Hawaii over Christmas while the tiger got out and shredded a San Jose drug-addled teenager, mawling the two surviving friends. More to come on that story - check out www.sfgate.com under TIGER ATTACK. I have to say, the tiger incident is certainly another funny circus for our local and national press, giving plenty of joke potential to tourguides. Affirmative Action-appointed Latino Zoo Director; Zebra dead from intestinal blockage; and two Punjabis men could be sent to prison for manslaughter, if famous lawyer Geragos (Scott Peterson's lawyer) doesn't save their drugarsches.

Rehab, Remarriage, Rerun of first term, Regurgitation of usual pro-bum laws...

My own last encounter with a Panhandler, or bum as locals say, was at the Shell Station, Turk/MAsonic. The tall, thin, bearded, filthy white man went to each customer and begged for money, got no results. I told him to get lost. He spit out the usual swearwords. While the bus got tanked, I went in to complain to the station's manager/clerk, Lupe. She was as outraged as me, fed up with endlessly calling the police and getting no results. She said he lived just up the block at 870 Turk; police knew it all, and wouldn't bother with it.

I was in a mood, alright, as I returned the tourbus to the yard. Off for the afternoon, I called the new 311 "citizen's line" to report not the incident as such, since "no one was hurt", but to rant about the police neglect of that particular station. The operator, one Carmen, passed me on to another, Bruce, and neither could give any resolution.

In no hurry, I decided to go into City Hall, to Room 160, and see where these 311 calls go. They're routed to the Mayor's Office of Neighborhood Services, which is connected to the Office of Citizen Complaints. Both appear to be well-staffed round files, since there's no record of my phone call in any computer, nor was there any Bruce or Carmen.

Scott Oswald came out from a back office as he heard my voice rising in anger at the front desk clerk. He clarified that panhandling is legal in SF. Aggressive panhandling, however, is not. That includes: not walking away when the pestered one says "No"; if it is done at an ATM; if swearing is involved.

Scott Oswald, Deputy Something of that MONS office, was a patient and placid soul. He looked pasty, like someone who'd originally thought to be a monk, then rejected celibacy. But for sheer dreariness, he took the cake: he was a walking whiteness of indifference, the perfect bureaucrat of a U.S. city indifferent to its decline.

With the parking meter outside ferociously ticking, I declined to stay and fill out a report. A long letter by email to Scott Oswald directly remains unanswered. I proposed that since 311, our new hotline, and the Office of Citizen Complaints, are effectively useless, only a paliative to calm irate people, why not create something equal pleasant, yet useless, the Office of Tourist Complaints? It could be located in the Justin Herman Plaza at the foot of Market STreet, have free maps and tour company brochures, films of SF's scenery running in the background, and friendly, young, useless employees seated anxiously listening to tourists' complaints.

It would be fun, if nothing else, I wrote to Scott Oswald, and furthermore, it may even lead to concrete solutions to our civil problems. Most of our tourists are world travellers, savvy and observant, who have seen and heard the usual sorry excuses for poor government in many cities of the world. They have also seen well-run and well-policed cities. Our very own mayor goes on junkets to Switzerland, so why not have these folks tell us directly what they see needing improvement, and steps thereto, right at Embarcadero?

If they cooperate, we could give them a free hamburger at Red's Java House.

Ah, to be a tourguide, terribly engaging, yet oh-so-detached! For these lucky tourists, they do come, but yes, luckily, off they go. They do not have to live here and put up with our Mayor and his neglect of our beautiful city.