That was quite a piece about Gavin Newsom in the New York Times. Thank you, Maureen Dowd! While sipping green tea in his elegant office, Gavin apparently revealed that he is washing his hands of politics. He’s over it, done with you people. He took a bullet for the gays and sacrificed himself so you queens could register for stemware. According to our Mayor, “In a couple of years, you’ll see me as the clerk of a wine store.”

That’s weird. I wonder how his 12-step sponsor feels about that.

Maureen immediately swoons, “It’s easy to picture the lithe and charming Newsom — with the well-cut suits, the electric Tesla, the beautiful blonde wife and baby — advising a Pacific Heights couple on a cabernet with aromas of eucalyptus and mint.”

Actually, it is not easy to picture that. Is he wearing an apron when this happens? Does he stock the shelves himself? Is he pushing a hand cart stacked with cases of wine to and from the truck out back? Because I for one cannot picture that at all.

But I guess he’s got to do something since he’s definitely switching careers. “This is it. God bless. It was fun while it lasted,” he said of his career, with a rueful smile. “Guys like me don’t necessarily progress very far, which is fine.”

Yeah, it’s fine. Just fine. Everything’s hunky fuckin’ dory.

But the best part is when our Mayor is asked about his former slot on the Hot List of Future Democratic Super Stars, circa 2004. “There were five of us,” he said, with a teasing nostalgia. “A guy named Obama. I’m like ‘Why is he in here? This is ridiculous. I mean, he’s a state senator. I’m kind of insulted.”

Even I, with my blind lust for our Mayor, paused in my reading and said aloud, “Jesus Christ. Shut the fuck up.”

But I can’t blame Gavin for delighting in giving an interview to the New York Times. I mean, Hank Plante practically got a microphone thrown at him, but Maureen Dowd wants to talk about green tea and wine and suddenly, our Mayor is getting into a charming pissing contest with state senators.

Bear in mind, if I was interviewing Gavin Newsom over green tea in an elegant setting, I’d be describing the way the light hits his cheekbones, the subtlety of his manicure, the magical sparks that explode into the universe whenever he smiles. And even if he said something douchey about Barack Obama, I wouldn’t even notice until I got home and replayed my tape of our conversation over and over again.

But then I’d pause.

Wait a second.

Selling wine? Was that rehab thing insincere? Jeez, that one stings a little. And he was insulted to be on the same whippersnapper list as a state senator? That’s kind of a dick thing to admit. And finally, he says about our President, “there’s a growing discontent and lack of enthusiasm that I worry about.”

Oh, honey. I know how you feel…

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