When I heard that Guster was fiddling up to Cornell on their own bandwagon, I resolutely decided to make certain precautions in order to ensure that I would never happen to fall into any association with any component of this concert. Although I hadn’t listened to Guster since the Great Headphones mix-up of Park School Field Trip 1999, a metallic, stinging taste and images of my Hebrew school teacher singing Gusteresque songs about “The Land of Milk and Honey” hit me like a toy freight train (not terribly violently but noticeably). I had a mission: I had to not get tickets to Guster and not go. But how?!
I have been not going to Guster shows my whole life, but clearly their increasing proximity demanded a sturdier game plan on this day, March 14, 2004. Making specific plans was essential to having a Guster-free day.
I considered some extreme safeguards. An electric fence around the concert forum was one proposal. I couldn’t run the risk of accidentally stumbling into that concert, accidentally falling into the crowd, and accidentally losing myself in the chill vibes of Guster. In the end, I resolved that this would be too socially constraining. It was bad enough not owning a single John Mayer (Sr.), Dave Matthews, or Guster CD, and hardly ever saying “chill.” If I were to be seen having a chill-out seizure in mid-air along College Avenue, I very well may not have ever been allowed in “Delta Schlomo Sigma 3” fraternity ever again.
So I took to heartier activities. With my fellows, Dan McAlvin ’05, Phillip Nelson ’07 and John Miles ’07, I malleted off the first shot of the first match of the Croquet Club. With tensions high and socks even higher, we croqueted our way around the Arts quad to the joy of a large audience consisting of