After the corporate, buttoned-up Riordan years and the white toast James Hahn experience, anyone paying attention to LA politics suffered a sort of whiplash when all-around overachiever and future Presidential candidate Antonio Villaraigosa put the pedal to the metal of the Mayor's office to see what that motha' could do.

There he was in Washington testifying on immigration, back in LA to fix the schools, off to China to sign trade agreements, breaking up the gangs, campaigning for Hillary, promoting recycling, playing bingo at the Senior Center, serving at the soup kitchen, directing traffic at the Galaxy game.  A real go-getter, this guy.  Someone clearly angling for national attention who actually deserves it.  You go, Boy!

And then we get word that, on top of all his official dutying, Dude had found the time to, as the French say, "take a lover."  This was not just some Margharita-fueled Ramada Inn hook-up with Kelli from Accounting.  This was high-profile anchorita Mirthala Salinas.  The chutzpah.  The cojones.  The time-management skills!  Cause, really, with all the meetings and the ribbon-cuttings and the press in your face all day, who's got time for an affair?  That's insane.  Granted, when you're mayor, wealthy and good looking, you're pre-approved.  It's not like he had to troll online or orchestrate chance meetings at the water cooler or hit on her when the office took Jerry to TGI Fridays for his birthday.  But, still, you gotta think even His Honor has to put some time into getting that ball rolling. 

Then there's the sheer work of managing an affair - the subterfuge, the alibis to keep straight... finding out-of-the-way restaurants and hotels, the teddy shopping, listening to and pretending to care about her feelings plus those of your wife and not getting them mixed up.  That's triathlete stuff.  He's putting mere mortals to shame.  By the time I get home, have dinner, wash the dishes and watch the Dodgers botch another, it's time for Seinfeld.  That novel... those guitar lessons... that cocktail waitress... will have to wait till next week.

Sure, the divorce freed up some hours in his day, but you got to factor in all the conference calls with lawyers and trips to Bed, Bath & Beyond for new towels.  Plus he's doing his own laundry now and taking the kids to Carrow's and pony rides on the weekend.  But did this slow Antonio down?  Not a single shtup.  (Hey, you want someone done, ask a busy person.)

This, frankly, is the kind of leadership that can turn a city around.  No more will we accept cop-outs for underperforming like  "That's not my job."  Or "I've got enough on my plate."  Or "I'm married."  Leaders make an effort.  Losers make excuses.

And so, Antonio, you have the admiration of Angelinos everywhere.  But, really, is one mistress enough?  Let's build on this foundation of fornication.  A guy with your vision and boundless energy could build a rainbow coalition of the wanton; a cross-cultural harem of hotties that dares us to dream, to see beyond ethnicity and embrace the full, supple curves of all races.  This is, after all, a city of endless diversity, desires and depravity.

Can't we all get along?  Or at least three of us at a time?

By Toby Muller