I highly recommend cranking up some Def Leppard songs every now and then and dancing around your apartment/home/van down by the river while singing loudly even though one or both of your dogs/children/Jerhova’s Witnesses selling the Watchtower keep staring at you as if you’re an idiot. You’re not an idiot. It’s fun. Do it.
The first time I heard Def Leppard I was eleven. We’d gone to Wisconsin–a family of four and all of our luggage, a three day drive there and a three day drive back in a Subaru GL hatchback. I don’t recommend it!–for a family reunion during the summer. While there my brother and I found a record store, because kids in a strange land will always find a music store, an arcade, and somewhere to buy junk food. We found the aforementioned music store, a laundromat with a Pac Man machine, and an A&W Root Beer stand. My brother took home Def Leppard’s Pyromania album. I’d never heard of them, but the album’s cover looked cool. For no apparent reason I purchased a cassette titled My Beach by the Surf Punks. I’d never heard of them either, but with 18 songs I figured I was getting my money’s worth. The Surf Punks kind of sucked, but they were also amusing and appealed my 11 year old boy sensibilities. “Turn that shit off,” my brother said. I did as ordered. It was less painful that way. He played Def Leppard and I pretended not to like it, but I secretly loved it instantly. Every song on the album was perfection. Then we spent a half hour lifting the needle and dropping it back to the beginning of “Rock of Ages,” trying to figure out what the hell they were saying. I think that’s the real reason I took German class in junior high and high school.