"Cool" Has Left the Building

Whatever illusions I ever had that I somehow could be considered "cool" (and believe me when I say the word "illusions" is an accurate one) have flown the coop in the last month or two. (Actually, in a "meta" sort of way, this belief that the alleged status has only just left me is another prime example of the word "illusions").

Let's be honest. Anyone who wears stretch denim or dribbles in her panties after a hot bath or considers a seven-letter Scrabble play a real coup already qualifies as clinically delusional.

Still. . . .

I have my holdouts. My aces in the hole, as it were. Like my scooter. (Which I just sold to a "good" friend.) Or my music collection. (Which is comprised of a combination of nearly-extinct vinyl, cassette tapes and cds.) Or my "i > u" t-shirt. (Which I'm wearing right now as I type this and bought at a website called ThinkGeek.com).

These culminating events may not represent my "Come to Jesus" moment so much as they have become my collective "Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200" notification.

For at least the past 20 years, I have made a musical "senior tape/cd" for my graduating students. Used to be that the students would anticipate this gift with the same giddiness that a starving college student anticipates two-fers and free appetizers on a Friday. Or a Saturday. Or a Tuesday. Once upon a time, my musical compilations were revered by my seniors. Now, I'm afraid, they are simply endured. Like a $25 savings bond from the grandparents.

"Really? Gee, thanks."

Absent of cable television, a shower, and the knowledge of how to text (more or less, the knowledge of what my grotesquely underused cell-phone number even is), I am, in fact, the antithesis of "cool." Rather, I'm this sad combo platter of "utterly irrelevant" and "just a tad bit pathetic."

And I'm now in danger of becoming invisible, unregistered, un-Google-able. Like 7-Up in the '70s, I've become the uncola of humanity. Only without the self-promoting commercials and uncola nuts.

And so, I seek to make peace with this new me, the one for whom there really is no 21st-century peace. No longer sought out by niche advertisers (unless you count Depends and AARP), in danger of becoming a target of employer "early buyout" programs, soon-to-be recipient of discount movie passes.

Peace, though, as we've learned innumerable times from the history books, is not an easily attainable state of being.