I don’t even pretend to be hip anymore

I am not hip. I am not cool. I might have been hip and/or cool for about ten minutes in 1992, but I think that might have been the only time.

So while other people my age might be checking out the Village Voice for some unknown band playing in a dank basement bar on the Lower East Side, Christine and I are going to see Def Leppard.

Completely irony-free.

Ten years ago, I still would have gone, but I would have been rolling my eyes the whole time.

This time, I plan to RAWK OUUUT!

This won’t be my first 21st century foray into The Good Old Days of Hair Metal because Christine and I saw Def Leppard in 2003. Only about 50% ironically, I think. We’ve now outgrown the need to be hip and/or cool and are going to see them again. Why not? It’s FUN to re-live seventh grade! Plus, neither she nor I will be pregnant so we can get a little bit shitty before we go in and have an extra-rockin’ time.

Too bad I don’t have any acid-wash laying around, and too bad I cut my hair or I would bust out the curling iron and make it big. We’re talking Tawny-Kitaen-Whitesnake-video big. I can barely comb my hair these days, but I was in middle school in the late 80’s so I know my way around a curling iron and a can of Aqua-Net.

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