Turning The Green Light

THE VORTEX

San Diego has a peculiar way of putting you at ease. Sunshine/nice beaches + #1 craft beer city in the country + chronic tardiness = it’s relaxing. Obviously this is one reason why at certain times of the year it can become a whirlwind of tourists. Oftentimes that whirlwind becomes a vortex. Normal, well-intentioned vacationers are at one moment admiring Shamu’s water displacement ability and the next getting swept up almost involuntarily by the city’s sunshiny charm, eventually never finding their way home. They fall in love with the city and soon join the ranks as San Diego residents.

YUCK

Being from the South originally, I know a little bit about the transition. The maturation process for a new resident starts at “transplant”. Soon you are simply known as from “back East” regardless of where you are actually from. As you take physical form as a permanent resident you find yourself at a critical crossroads. These are your choices: will you assume the unjustified sloppiness of being “laid back”? The argument for the affirmative is convincing. It’s easy to wear shorts and a t-shirt to everything. Beach Hair = uncombed hair. Board shorts = no underwear. Who wants to comb their hair? Who wants……to……. Best thing about this style is that you blend in. Yuck. The other choice: will you choose to maintain the appearance of being groomed. ie. combed hair, underwear, etc. Variety prevails in this city and the result can sometimes be an unpredictable mixture in every imaginable setting.

PICASSO’S GNATS

Recently a friend and I attended a lecture on Pablo Picasso from a man who could be the foremost authority on the subject. I’m saying, “could be” because, sure, everyone there knew more about Picasso than I did but this guy was the one on the stage. He was the only person in the room facing the other direction. This guy was sitting in his high-backed, kingly chair with his legs crossed, waving his hand around while talking, as if he was shooing away imaginary gnats, not bothering to lift his elbow off the arm rest while gesturing. Perhaps these were unlearned, low class gnats not worthy to hear his Picasso pontifications.

NAPS!

But enough about him, my real concern was not this guy’s reputation, not even the boredom factor of lectures and the high likelihood that I would probably succumb to an involuntary and untimely nap. My concern was, strangely and sadly, what clothing I was expected to wear to this event. What was an acceptable way to present myself in this setting? I’m trying to look more like an adult. Sometimes, really trying. This is the problem for me: avoiding looking stupid at an occasion that is even slightly vague in its formality is impossible. Between the laid back locals and the culturally varied transplants it is hopeless to predict what is appropriate. But, why was I worried about this anyway? For one, I didn’t want to slum it up but, like a lot of men, wearing dressy clothing is an event wrought with insecurities for me. I was a lock to screw this up.

FINAL JUDGMENT

So as I donned my totally not gay apparel, a scenario played out in my head that began with my art dealer friend meeting us at the door. She would, with eyes focused on no particular part of my haggard garments, deliver a stinging assessment. I would have no choice but to retreat in shame. The only thing heard would be the sound of flip-flops pattering in the distance with ever increasing intensity and irregularity on account that I was lost. Lost in a panic in a parking lot. Cementing my reputation as a culturally clueless country boy. Jus tryna see sum pretty pitures.

YOU <3 DOLPHINS

As it turns out, no one cares. Just go to your lecture, sit down in the back, and don’t do anything stupid like light a cigarette, and most importantly, shut up and don’t draw attention to yourself if you’re worried about it all. It’s relaxing here because nobody notices you or cares how you present yourself…unless of course you are disrupting the peace, sun and hoppy beer milieu. Come along, there’s a dolphin here that wants to give you a big hug…for $225 of course. Welcome to San Diego.