Misfit S.F. is just ahead of its time
Joan Ryan
Thursday, March 2, 2006
It is said that we never really leave high school. The workplace is high school with cubicles. Our neighborhoods are high school with cocktail parties.
When I heard about the San Francisco Board of Supes passing a resolution this week calling for the impeachment of the president, a move that followed one of the supes dismissing on national television the need for a standing military, I suddenly had an image of a high school made up of all the major cities in the country.
Just as every student plays a role in the dynamic of a school, so does every big city in the dynamic of a country.
Los Angeles is the cheerleader with the nose job and the Juicy Couture tank top. Chicago is the good-natured linebacker who is the go-to guy when a keg needs tapping and isn't above stuffing the ballot box to become class president.
San Francisco is the odd kid in the back row of the classroom in the tattered vintage jeans and fuchsia scarf with a streak of orange in his hair. He doesn't wear leather and explains with the verve of an evangelist why not.
He is of ambiguous sexual orientation and ethnicity, though there's a clear Asian influence. He has amazing bone structure. He is trim and elegant without being too polished. He carries himself the way people do who know they are beautiful. But he doesn't make any particular effort to look good. That would be shallow and, in his book, shallowness is about the most serious sin.
He sees himself as an intellectual, someone who is compassionate and sophisticated, well read and well traveled, socially conscious and politically enlightened. That not everyone sees him in the same way is of no concern to him. There is no question in his mind that they are wrong, and he is right.
Not surprisingly, he has opinions about everything, and shares them without reservation and without worrying what anyone thinks of him.
Indeed, there is often more than a hint of condescension in his opinions, as if he is trying his best to be patient while everyone else catches up to his forward thinking. He has reason to feel a little smug. Many of his ideas that seemed radical when first presented -- recycling garbage, for instance, or banning pesticides from playing fields -- eventually became commonplace.
The Fuschia Scarf
He's the one at the school who speaks up for the gays and lesbians, the nerds and hippies, the outcasts and losers. He's the one who organizes a boycott of the cafeteria until it serves only organic and free-trade products, who collects food and winter jackets for the homeless and who spearheads a recall of the principal.
Sometimes people dismiss him as a kook or even a freak, but he never doubts the rightness of his beliefs. He thinks he can change the world, despite all evidence to the contrary. For instance, he thinks he can get the white kids, black kids and Asian kids to mix into one happy, integrated student body. But despite all his efforts and his social theories, each group separates itself from the others, retreating to its own table in the lunchroom.
Some find his idealism refreshing and essential; others think it's childish, impractical and mind-numbingly predictable.
In truth, he struggles with consistency. He is a committed vegan until he reads the menu at Gary Dankos. He marches in every anti-whatever parade, unless it conflicts with his trips to Squaw or Kona. He believes deeply in tolerance but shouts down Republican classmates.
Few question, however, his facile and unconventional mind. He challenges accepted wisdom. So he blows everyone away with his science-fair projects and multimedia book reports, but he barely passes the courses he considers stupid and irrelevant -- "the old paradigm," he says. He wants to break new ground, invent things no one else has thought possible.
He can take himself too seriously sometimes, but he is also a load of fun. He'll try anything, go anywhere, meet anyone. He can be irreverent and silly.
He is the only child -- a little self-centered, a little indulged -- of a gracious, wealthy mother and a raconteur father. So he can tie a Windsor knot and box the favorite in the sixth at Golden Gate Fields. He can deliver the most elegant toasts and tell the bawdiest jokes. He's equally comfortable at opening night at the ballet and Halloween in the Castro.
In a high school populated by major cities, San Francisco is the wild but likable radical. He's nutty, rebellious, smart, indulgent, arrogant, funny, gorgeous. And as much as his classmates ridicule his crazy ideas and out-there opinions, more times than not, the weird kid in the back of the room with the fuchsia scarf is on to something.
E-mail Joan Ryan at joanryan@sfchronicle.com. Her column runs on Thursdays while she on assignment.
Page B -> |
>