HERB CAEN -- The Rambling Wreck

A SENTIMENTAL holiday scene outside Hotel Sir Francis Drake on Monday: Tourist Barbara Geistley, wooed by a panhandler who sang The Temptations' "Ain't Too Proud to Beg," replied sweetly, "I'll give you a quarter if you zip your fly." Done. And done . . . Mark Menges of Walnut Creek is back from Hong Kong with pictorial proof that the People's Republic of China Store, specializing in goods made in China, is advertising its "Annual 20 Per Cent Off Xmas Sale!" Mebbe them commies aren't as godless as we think. And besides, their Gucci knockoffs are pretty good . . . "It must have been a messy divorce," flashes Walt Giachini. "I mean the blonde who cut me off at the bottom of Waldo in a Camaro plated 'H8MYEX' " . . . And Michele Vinci reports that she was driving down Brannan behind a dark green Nissan Altima with a plate reading "MULTPL O" and giggles, "It sure peaked my curiosity!" . . . Julie Fenker knows what's new on the Las Vegas strip, having sighted same last wk.: a smallish store heralding "Authentic Cuban Cigars, Made Here." By an authentic Cuban or an impostor in Cuban heels?

THE SADDEST thing about the embarrassing Joanne Welsh-Police Chief Ribera harassment trial: it could have been settled out of court long ago, without all the fuss'n'mess, for $100,000; now it'll cost the city a mill, or close to it . . . Dave Vallerga anagrams Newt Gingrich into "Grinch Twinge," and would that be a twinge of sympathy, Mr. Speaker? Not bloody likely . . . Steve Hayes, who does feel the seasonal twinges, says "We've already had more tax cuts than we can afford and too little heart for the welfare of others." Saddest sights I see on the streets: single mothers with kids who seem only slightly younger than they. How in the world are they going to survive, Mr. GingRICH? . . . Another expert anagrammer, Jeff Mooers, says that "Regardless of the direction of the lean, the 'Frank or Willie?' question unscrambles to 'Win or I'll Freak.' "

DOTTERING ON: San Francisco's official Christmas tree, the 100-ft. 121-year-old Monterey cypress at McLaren Lodge in Golden Gate Park, will be lighted Dec. 13. No problem putting up the lights, points out Stoner Lichty. The Park Dept. is so poor it left the lights up from last year; they still work fine and not one was stolen. Shure and it's another miracle, by Jaysus . . . In an interview with Chita Rivera, Chron critic Edward Guthmann reports that "she likes to quote the doctor who told her she has the bones of a 20-year-old," to which Robert Brixner adds, "And if she has 'em in the trunk of her car, she's in biiiig trouble" . . . Sighted at Enrico's: Proctor Jones Jr., sporting a full multi-textured scraggly beard that his loving father described as looking "like an Airedale's butt" . . . And didja catch the ever-reliable Steve Martin on the Kennedy Center Honors Sun. night, saying about playwright Neil Simon, who'd just won an award: "I could talk for 10 minutes about Neil Simon's accomplishments, but this is neither the time nor the place." (Laughter). Next morning, Ch. 2 reported that another of the winners was "opera singer Lena Horne." I yield to no man in my admiration for Lena, but 'twas Marilyn, of course.

THE COUNTDOWN continues: Only 25 days till the last-ever "Calvin and Hobbes" cartoon, one of the lights of our matutinal half-lives. Bill Watterson is retiring, young and rich, and if he's stuck for a Dec. 31 closer, George Raymond has a scenario: "First panel: Calvin is sitting up in bed, arms outstretched and declaring 'It's Saturday! The grandest day of the week.' Second panel: Calvin rustling Hobbes, who is still under the covers. 'Come on, lazy bones. Wake up! The day is rapidly escaping us.' Third panel: Calvin pulls the covers back and sees for the first time the still figure of a stuffed tiger. The look on his face is a mixture of shock, dismay and sadness. Fourth panel: With one hand resting on Hobbes' still breast, he bows his little head and a tear appears on his cheek. A victim of something nobody can stop -- growing up."

STANLEY EICHELBAUM checks in with a seasonal footnote: a full-length "Nutcracker" in a gambling joint at Tahoe, or maybe you didn't notice that the Oakland Ballet did just that at Caesar's last weekend. How ubiquitous can an old chestnut get? . . . Ah America, cont'd: With more and more people driving faster and faster with rapidly diminishing skills (not to mention a lack of insurance), we are raising the speed limit. The injunction, "Speed Kills!," is still in force, as the statistics will soon show . . . Another reason Muni is falling apart: lead-footed drivers who can't drive. Instead of slowing to gradual halts, they jam on the brakes, the better to throw standees off their feet. They then start by ramming the pedal to the metal, just as the standees are returning to an upright position . . . I still say there should be an annual Muni Grand Prix at the Great Highway on New Year's Day so the bus drivers can get it out of their systems. Moral: You can't do the 49-Mile Drive as though it were the Indy 500.

CAENFETTI: Bev Sykes just rec'd her fund-raising letter from the Arthritis Foundation with this emblazoned on the envelope: "Last Chance to Double Up This Year!" Unfortunate choice of words, dear friends . . . And I rec'd an official-looking buff-colored double- windowed envelope labeled "Important Information Regarding Your Medicare Benefits," which I was damned if I would open and damned if I could throw away. Of course it was yet another sales pitch from an HMO and I heard a faraway voice cry "Gotcha!" And not for the first time.