HalfSquare in a College Town

by Chris Savage
May 16, 2006

There are certain things and places in this world that are guaranteed to make you feel half-square. Living in a university-town like I do is probably one of the most obvious. University towns, particularly large ones in somewhat largish towns, serve as a nearly constant reminder that, well, maybe you wish you were young and hip again, but, uh, well, buddy, you ain't. The problem is, to paraphrase David Wooderson in the movie "Dazed and Confused", I keep on getting older but they stay the same age.

The way this impacts us half-squares changes with the seasons. In the winter, as you slog down the street in your sensible boots, warm and toasty winter jacket, neck gaiter or scarf, Thinsulate™ gloves and 10 year-old stocking cap, the young thangs around you are waiting in line at the bar in midriff-baring skin-tight shirts, mini-skirts and flip-flops. No matter that it's 10 degrees outside in the middle of a blizzard. Uh-uh, these kids are way too cool to be comfortable. It's all about style and, dressing sensibly like you do, are you kidding me? No sir, they aren't taking a hit on their style points just to be warm. Okay, maybe the guys are wearing knit beanies like Ace from American Idol. But they'll be doing that all summer, my half-square friends, so, really, it doesn't count.

As the weather warms and spring fills the air, so does the sound of clothing hitting the floor. If you thought these kids were under-dressed in the wintertime, you now have the chance to see how far the concept of under-dressed can be pushed. The first 40-degree day and suddenly you feel like you're at the beach. Guys wearing shorts and no shirts, throwing frisbees and kicking hacky-sacks. Girls wearing bikinis and laying in the sun. As soon as the ice is off the pond, it's a skin-baring free-for-all. Maybe it's the tanning spa glow that keeps them warm. Maybe it's the aura of their dyed-blond hair. Maybe the cell phones perpetually glued to their ears are actually little warming devices. Whatever it is, these college students clearly have no sense of the cold and with their perky, often augmented breasts and six-pack abs, they're out to show you who's half-square and who's not.

Summertime hits the university town and the half-squares are temporarily given what they think is a respite from the constant reminders that they are the Un-Hip. But it's an illusion, really. Sure, since the students have mostly left for the summer, we can go to restaurants without having to wait in line. Sure, we can go to the pubs and taverns without getting carded for a few short months. But if you pay attention, if you look in the corners of the restaurants and bars, they are there, lurking, smirking. These are the students who stayed in town for the summer and, to them, we are just a bunch of pathetic oldsters on their turf. On the way home from the restaurant, we'll walk by their houses. We'll see the beer bottles lined up on the porch on a weekday night. We'll see them partying until 3 a.m., knowing that they'll be waking up to start their day just about the time we're leaving our cubicles for lunch. Yes, we'll see all this and we'll know that we are half-square.

And then comes fall. Fall in a university town has an aura all its own. A time of new beginnings. A time to renew friendships and meet new friends. Whether they are moving into a dorm room or into a house with several of their friends, college students are high on the buzz of a New Semester. And it's contagious. Even we lowly half-squares begin to feel a little bouncier in our steps. We flirt with our spouses a little more. Life seems to hold a bit more promise. But with this new semester, we once again find ourselves banished from our favorite restaurants. Our Un-Hipness is once again thrown in our face by pierced, flat bellies and tanned, bulging biceps. The Students are back and we are once again invisible.

You see, it's not that they disdain us so much as that they really don't even see us. Oh, sure, they wait on us at the grocery store or the pharmacy or when we do actually manage to get into a local eatery. They may even exchange pleasantries with us. But, really, we don't leave an impression on their psyches at all. We're there, but we're invisible.

This invisibility was pointed out to me vividly quite recently. My wife, Anne, and I attended a Guster concert on the campus of Michigan State University. Now we've been Guster fans for quite some time. We saw them when they were a small, modest, three-piece group warming up for John Mayer. We own some of their albums and we actually listen to them from time to time. What I'm saying here is that, damn it, we had every right to be at that concert! But, my half-square friends, if you ever want the stark reality of being half-square shoved in your face and down your throat into the very pit of your soul, go to a Guster concert in a college town.

Our date started with a bit of foreshadowing that should have prepared us for what was to come. As we arrived on campus, searching for a parking space we saw an acquaintance, another half-square like ourselves, walking on a campus sidewalk with his teen-aged daughter.

"Hey there!" we greeted him, turning down the iPod cranking out "Amsterdam".

"Hey, hi! Where're you guys headed?" he asked us.

"We're going to see Guster," we answered.

"Guster?" he asked with a laugh. "You're kidding! You're too old!"

Ha ha.

"I love Guster," my wife told him. "I have all their albums."

"Uh, me too," replied the teen-aged daughter with some uncertainty. She was clearly contemplating the implication of sharing musical tastes with a woman more than twice her age.

"You guys going to the concert, too, then?" we asked them.

"She is," replied our half-square acquaintance. "I'm dropping her off to meet some friends and to sell this extra ticket we have."

It was actually beginning to look like we might be the oldest people at this damned concert.

As we locked up the car, we discussed who would carry the flask of scotch inside. We then joined the river of people moving toward the auditorium. It was then that we first realized that we were invisible. Without an untucked, paisley button-down shirt, I couldn't be seen. Without a pierced eyebrow, tongue and belly button and without her flip-flops, my wife was equally transparent. Neither of us talked on a cell phone as we walked. Neither of us was unnaturally thin or buff. In fact, neither of us could be seen at all.

Inside the auditorium, we passed right by the ticket-takers with hardly a glance. I honestly think we could have waved our scotch flask under their noses and we would have been whisked through without incident. I'm pretty sure I saw some students being strip-searched, however.

Taking our seats, we took in the sights around us. Everywhere we looked were anorexic young women and slim, muscular men. It appeared to us to be a Paris Hilton/John Mayer look-alike contest. All around us were beautiful young contestants talking on cell phones and snapping photos of each other with their cell phones and showing each other photos on their cell phones. They'd spot a friend up in the balcony and, waving wildly to them, would quickly call them.

"Dude!"

"Brah! Whatup?"

"Nada, dude. This is totally awesome!"

"Word."

"Later."

*click*

Rinse and repeat.

When the first act, Andrew Bird, came on stage, the lights dimmed and my wife and I settled in to enjoy the music. However, at least half of the auditorium was still empty and, unlike us, those that were there apparently had no interest in Andrew Bird's music. He has an eclectic style, using tape loops, violins, banjos and whistling to create hypnotic, rhythmic, layered compositions. As he worked his wonderful aural magic on stage, the two John Mayers next to me mocked him while flirting with the Paris Hiltons next to them. The song would end and there'd be a polite smattering of applause (except for our enthusiastic clapping and whistling, of course) but, like us, Andrew Bird was nearly invisible. Without radio hits, he apparently wasn't on their radar screen.

Under the cover of dimmed lights, my wife took out our flask of scotch and we both partook. Looking nervously around, we soon began to realize that nobody was paying any attention to us! I began to be bolder, more obvious when I pulled from the flask. Nothing. No disapproving looks from the twenty-something usher standing next to me. No envious glances from the John Mayer on my left or the three Paris Hiltons sitting in front of us. It was if they couldn't see us at all.

Andrew Bird's set ended and the lights came on. Immediately 24,536 cell phone calls began. It was almost as if you could see the giant electronic beam of cell phone calls shooting up through the air. Thirty minutes of pent-up cell phone calls released in a single moment. I envisioned the cells on the cell phone tower overheating from the onslaught and falling to the earth in a melted heap of charred metal.

By the time Guster's set began, the auditorium was full. We did actually spot some other half-squares in the audience. However, it was clear that most of them were there simply to chaperone their young teenagers and were, in fact, full-squares. We continued to sip our scotch in plain view of everyone, reveling in our invisibility. We become convinced that we could shed our clothing and make love in the aisle and we wouldn't have been noticed even as John and Paris stepped over us to get to their seats.

Guster put on an amazing show. The drummer, Brian Rosenworcel, plays nearly all the songs using only his hands, no drumsticks. The other three musicians, Ryan Miller, Adam Gardner, and Joe Pisapia, each sang and played guitar, bass, banjo, and piano interchangeably. They are a versatile group with the knack for putting together a song with a hook and with meaning and their instrumental prowess is never so evident as when you see them live. John and Paris were clearly enamored of these fine pop stars, singing along with each song and repeatedly phoning their friends throughout the show.

After the show ended and we were heading back to our car, my wife and I reflected on the show and on our invisibility to the college students around us. I realized that there is some freedom to being a half-square in a college town. Sure we're invisible but we still enjoy the same music as the students. However, at the same time, we don't have to work so hard. We don't have to spend all our money on clothing and piercings and cell phone bills. We aren't constantly keeping up with everyone around us. We can enjoy the freedom that being unnoticed brings and we don't have to freeze to death doing it.

And, when all is said and done and John Mayer and Paris Hilton go out of style, probably becoming half-squares themselves, we don't have to reinvent ourselves. Paris and John will have gotten older. But the college students? They stay the same age.