Aug 21, 2016
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 4, 2016
From ages 8 to 12, or from the self-titled debut to Diver Down, I was a Van Halen poseur. I pretended to like them, I drew the band logo on my schoolbook covers, and I made my own shirt with an iron-on transfer from the Skate Odyssey shop. You had to get a baseball jersey for an iron-on transfer, or just don't even bother.
In reality I hated baseball jerseys and I couldn't have named one Van Halen song. Why all this pretending? Because like all of us in the gaggle of younger cousins, I wanted to impress our eldest cousin, Dave. Dave was the coolest person I knew. He was a true blue diehard Van Halen fan, and while I was still playing with my Barbie dolls, Dave was old enough to go to Van Halen concerts and get the real shirt and everything. Which I thought was the ultimate pinnacle of supreme badassery. I didn't only want to impress him; I wanted to BE him.
Aug 3, 2016
Esprit d'escalier is a delightful term. Literally "stairway thoughts," that's when you think of a snappy comeback to a person who's just insulted or embarrassed you, but you think of it way too late, as in when you're already down the stairs. Thanks to Larry David, "esprit d'escalier" does have an American idiom now. Not a direct translation, but try to find anyone who was alive in the 90s that doesn't immediately get it when you say "jerk store."