Editor’s Notes by Tim Redmond
It was hard in the good old days. Back when we were young and San Francisco was cheap and I was really cool with my long hair and motorcycle and stuff. You could rent an apartment for $200 a month, and even though we weren’t making much money in those days, there was plenty left over for drugs.
Back then, a guy like me would never have respected a politician like Gavin Newsom. You know: Party pooper. High-society twit. He even blamed his drinking for his tawdry affairs; we always though our tawdry affairs were the best reason for our drinking. And we never went into rehab. How, like, Betty Ford can you be?
But now I’m older and have a family and take cholesterol medication and I’ve come to realize how much I like Gavin Newsom. I mean, I don’t like him, not all Beth Spotswood or anything, but he’s growing on me.
I remember when he was running for reelection, and he came down to the Guardian to talk to us, and I asked him why he should get another term when the city was so eminently fucked up, and he said: "Gee, why did I even bother to get up this morning?"
That’s the kind of question you’d never hear Jerry Brown or John Garamendi ask. They know why they got up this morning; they are past the time of wonder and self-doubt.
Old farts is what they are.
So this week we endorse Gavin — Our Mayor — for governor of California. You won’t read that in SF Weekly — they don’t even do endorsements, pathetic little shits.
In other news, I’m happy to announce that the Guardian has settled its lawsuit with SF Weekly and Village Voice Media.