SAINT JIM

Now that Jim Gardiner can't arrest me anymore, I can safely say that I've
wondered over the years why he's always been such a prig.

I say this with no disrespect. I like Jim, no matter what he's said about
me. But you've got to admit that SLO Town's former police chief never liked
it when people were having fun.

I know you're thinking that I'm dumping again on a fine man who gave so
much to so many for so long and so often that it's just so unfair of me to
be so mean. So? I've never let that stop me before. Just kidding.

If you'll stop ripping this page up for a minute, I'll explain myself in a
manner that I assure you will have you wanting to kill me. Just kidding.
You'll want to beat me silly, then kill me. Just kidding. Please understand
that there's nothing wrong with kicking someone when they're down. You just
have to make sure they can't get back up. Just kidding.

Come on, I was just having a little fun-which is the whole point, now that
I think of it. Here's what I'm trying to say:

Unless you were too drunk, you'll probably remember how a few months back
Jim decided that all the bars in downtown San Luis should close up early so
all us idiots would stop having fun. If he'd had his way, they'd have
stayed closed. This was one of those fights not worth picking. I couldn't
figure it out. I mean, drunks go to the Tip-a-Cop Fund-raiser Dinner, too,
and they always tip bigger. But Jim was on a mission, so he thumped and
hollered until the bar owners sobered up enough to put an end to such
madness, and Jim backed down so we could finish carousing.

Before that, it was Mardi Gras. Unless you were hooting and laughing too
loudly, you'll probably remember how it was Reverend Jim's righteous
crusade to keep any drunken naked people wearing body paint and sequined
G-strings from ever prancing down Higuera Street again looking like the
decadent fools they'd decided to become for one night of the year. Jim
became the Mardi Gras' worst blue-nosed nightmare. I think he thought they
did it just to piss him off. So he rallied and railed until some prominent
local naked people brokered a deal, and Jim backed down.

The whole recent medical marijuana flap was the last hurrah in Jim's
relentless war against rampant silliness and needless malarkey. Unless you
were too stoned, you'll probably remember that Jim confiscated some pot
from a guy who had a doctor's prescription for it, which made it legal
according to the wild-and-crazy State Supreme Court. Give it back, said the
local court. Don't want to, said Jim. Why not? Because, said Jim. Because
why? Because I said so. And he putzed and prevaricated for months until
some sensible somebody finally convinced him otherwise, and Jim backed down.

Our former police chief's battle against vice and vermin is nothing new. By
my reckoning, it started waaaay back in 1985 when he rallied SLO Town's
finest to shut down a Dead Kennedys concert-a rock band whose name was far
better than its music, but not nearly as distasteful-so Jim's troops
stormed the Vets Hall to make Elliot Ness proud, and put an end to such
disgusting tomfoolery. More people having too much fun. And being so damned
irresponsible about it. Really, now.

It's hard to defend fun. No, it's impossible. Fun doesn't have any
discernible, quantifiable, identifiable, tangible whatever about it. Fun
doesn't build hospitals or do your homework or say please. It doesn't make
you stronger or smarter, it doesn't get up early to work hard to pay the
rent and mow the lawn. It's ill-mannered and noisy and stupid, and it
always falls down and makes a mess and thinks it's hilarious. Fun doesn't
care because-well, because it's just fun.

So why has Jim shaken his finger at everyone for so long that it's ready to
fall off? That's no fun-which is the whole point now that I think of it.
Here's what I'm trying to say:

You feel guilty about having fun. But you puff up proud about working and
scraping and tucking your shirt in and doing what your parents always said
you should do. Me, I'm just the opposite, but never mind that. When it
comes to our elected representatives, we want the no-nonsense
kind-responsible and sensible and cautious and boring. We like knowing
someone's up there on deck paying attention so we can goof off and get
naked and drunk and debauched and otherwise dither-brained.

I think Saint Jim knows this. I think he wants us to know it, too, so that
when he runs for a county supes seat or assembly or whatever, that we'll
remember how responsible and sensible and cautious and boring he is, and
cast our votes his way so we can go back to goofing off and getting drunk
and debauched and otherwise dither-brained. Jim would never do that. Just
look at his tiresome record of no-nonsense watchfulness. He's no fun. Let's
elect him.

So now we've got a squeaky-clean candidate wannabe. But, hey, we've also
got a new police chief, Deborah Linden.

I hear she's a real party animal.

[sidebar]

FYI: When I'm not in my right mind, my left one gets really crowded.