7:13 pm-8:02 pm: Gavin Newsom for Mayor

Location: The Fillmore

"Newsom! Newsom! Newsom!" I scream at the top of my lungs while waving a large "Newsom" sign inside the subdued Fillmore ballroom. My shouting causes a few people to turn around with a frightened look. I'm now wearing a suit jacket and tie. While speeding across town, I've metamorphosed into a Newsom supporter. Though I attempted to dress up, I still stand out like a sore thumb with herpes.

The ballroom is decorated with massive amounts of red, white and blue balloons dispersed neatly throughout the room. People generally seem neither overly happy nor especially sad; the attitude is more like, "Let's get on with this -- I have to work tomorrow." Though it's an open bar, most people seem to be nursing just one beer.

As the DJ spins a mix of inoffensive late-'80s hip-hop, I go over to indulge in some free food, which I expect to be delicious, given that Newsom is in the restaurant business. I'm still feeling violated by the large doorman who thoroughly patted me down to the point where I thought I could maybe press charges. Yes, security is tight here, with a large presence of police throughout the building. All bags are being searched. There are three security checkpoints, the last of which is at the top of the stairs, staffed by a large man in a tuxedo shirt and tie. Apparently, Gordon Getty even had trouble getting in. He reportedly said to the doorman, "I'm a voter. Can you please let me in?" but was told to go to the back of the line.

I finally find the food table. Is this some kind of joke? The only food available is chips, on a table decorated with numerous cloves of garlic as ornaments. There's a choice of several kinds of salsas, however, served by caterers adorned in matching purple aprons.

You'd think that if Newsom outspent Gonzalez in campaign funding 10 to 1, his people could at least provide some chicken wings.

"Do you support Newsom?" I ask the bartender. "No!" he snaps, quickly walking away.

"Newsom has class, a lot of class," explains a blond woman named Patty, who looks much older than, perhaps, she would like to appear to be. She keeps grabbing my arm. "He has that Midwestern sensibility, like he'd help you fix a tire."

Then Patty slightly invades my personal space, again grabbing my arm, and she insists I accompany her to the bar. She mentions she was once a Chicago Bears cheerleader. Though I could use a sugar mommy, I politely decline, being that my hour is almost up. I have to go back and support Matt Gonzalez.