For those of you looking to get in on the Guns n’ Roses tribute band phenomenon, look no more. I received the following e-mail last week:

“Nearly five years ago, Guns N Roses cover band Mr. Brownstone stormed into Madison to deliver it’s first blistering Halloween performance. In July 2007, a second GNR cover band named Paradise City played the Club Tavern, which according to a blog commenter (who must be the little brother of a band member) was “at capacity.”

Thus, “Mr. Brownstone v. Paradise City” displaced “Roe v. Wade” as the new national debate that dominated the public discourse…until now.

In a development that could completely change the “Mr. B v. PC” dynamic, a third GNR cover band has emerged and it will be playing in Madison on April 17th. “Appetite for Destruction” will be rocking the Majestic on Thursday, April 17th. (Doors open at 7:30. Show starts at 8:30. $10.)

Judging by their website, these guys tour all over and this is more than just a hobby for them.

Consider this: there are twelve songs on the album Appetite for Destruction. Mr. Brownstone and Paradise City are two of them. Could it be possible that a band that has named itself after the whole album is twelve times better than the other bands named after only one song? After rigorous statistical analysis, the answer is: probably.

Anyway, even if they stink, you wouldn’t want to miss the beer-fueled audience mayhem that accompanies a GNR cover band show.

- W. Axl

I appeared on the “Here and Now” show this week to discuss the new Wisconsin Government Accountability Board’s actions with regard to campaign advertising. Before clicking on the video below, be warned: it might take a couple viewings to figure out exactly what happens. Be prepared to say: “Did he just do what I think he did?”

Oh yes. He did.

When the State Legislature finally decides to completely de-fund Wisconsin Public Television, this video clip will likely be the final nail in the coffin.

Also, yesterday I participated in a Milwaukee Public Television roundtable discussion about Wisconsin’s tax level. It will air on the “4th Street Forum” show at the convenient times of 10 PM on Friday night on Channel 10, and at 3 PM on Sunday afternoon on Channel 36. Video will be made available online via podcast at some point, so I will link to that when it goes up.

I thoroughly enjoyed this piece by Andy Moore (my “Here and Now” producer), in which he bemoans the decline in hitchhiking as a standard practice in America:

Hitchhiking is dead. It’s hard to say which came first, drivers who no longer pick up hitchhikers or people who no longer hitchhike. But I bet you couldn’t fill a booth at the Rathskeller with college students who have even once thumbed a ride.

It is what it is, but it’s too bad. A whole generation and, it seems, generations to come will miss out on one of the defining legs of the American journey.

Back in the 1970s and 1980s, hitching for me was an aerobics course in expectations. It began with an act of sheer positive thinking, a belief cast in blind faith that complete strangers, traveling in their own arc, would enter my life and take me further on.

There were therapeutic benefits to hitchhiking. Mental-health strategies that people actually pay professionals to learn. Hitching required patience. It demanded you slow down your pace, accept that you’re not in control of the universe and be okay with that. It asked you to hope for the best and accept disappointment.

While the limit of my patience was tested waiting for rides, I can’t say I was ever disappointed by my encounters with the people who picked me up. Frightened by them, yup. Intimidated, bored, maybe. Offended, amused, encouraged, and inspired, too.

Oh, and I’m on the show Friday.

In an effort to get people exactly like me to do exactly this, the “Got Milk?” people have unleashed mustache rocker “White Gold” on the internet. I believe the kids call that “going viral.”

I fully expect White Gold to do more for the Wisconsin economy than the cheese curd.

All of White Gold’s videos can be seen here.

Ever since my trip to the doctor last week, I have made a valiant effort to get my health on. It’s been a week since I’ve eaten fast food, and I’ve run my four mile route four times. I feel like I need to go club some baby seals, just to restore balance to my life. From the depths of my colon, my doctor retrieved the secret to good health – eating right, more exercise, and paint huffing only in moderation.

The eating healthier thing hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be. At first, it felt like my best friend had left me. My sweet, delicious, greasy, salty best friend. But when you realize that best friend was secretly plotting to kill you, it makes it a little easier to break up.

The exercise has been much harder. The first day I ran my route, I ended up walking a good part of the last 2 miles. That’s always so embarrassing, as you feel like the people driving by are laughing at you. There’s a wicked uphill climb at the end of my route, and I actually tried to motivate myself by saying things out loud, like “if Kansas can win the national championship, I can make it up this hill.” In fact, the homeless guy I hired to carry me up the hill thought it was really weird.

But I was stunned at the progress I made after just a couple runs. I can now make it the whole route without hearing the Reaper’s footsteps behind me. I’m still afraid to step on a scale, though. I’m afraid that when the scale sees me coming, it will scurry out of the room. (This has now offically become my audition to start writing “Cathy” cartoons.)

So the next time any of you see me, don’t be shocked when you see that I have the body of Adonis. My next project is to become three inches taller.

Here’s a song.

I’m just finishing up Charles R. Cross’ excellent but intensely depressing biography of Kurt Cobain, entitled “Heavier than Heaven.” It’s an unflinching look at Cobain that doesn’t spare any detail about his drug use, cruelty, and selfishness. And now I’m completely bummed out.

Reading this book has kind of given me a glimpse of how book reading will probably be in the near-future. I read a big chunk of it while hooked up to the internet and logged on to YouTube. So when something happens in the book, rather than taking the author’s word for what it was like, you can often go right to the clip and see for yourself.

For instance, take the time when Nirvana appeared on the British “Top of the Pops” show. The producers made the band play “Smells Like Teen Spirit” over a pre-recorded sound track, while Kurt sang live. Not quite lip-synching, but close. This irritated Cobain, so he made a mockery of the performance, performing it in a crooner-type style. After the performance, the band had to scramble out of the studio, as the show’s producers were livid. Later, Kurt said he was merely trying to pay tribute to Morrissey.

Thankfully, in one click, I was able to find the clip:

You can also find a now-infamous clip from British television where Kurt announces that Courtney Love is the” greatest f*** in the world.”

This seems to be an interesting opportunity book publishers can use to augment their written texts. When they publish a book, they could have video clips and other materials online to broaden the readers’ experience. In fact, when I finally write my book exposing Cap’n Crunch as a war criminal, I’ll be sure to provide plenty of online supplementation.

Some other observations, as long as we’re on this topic:

I’m not really clued in to how books like this are written, but I imagine it takes a lot of cooperation from friends and family of the subject. As a result, the book gives a fairly glowing assessment of Courtney Love. I imagine she allowed Cross access to all of Kurt’s materials, and it appears the author may have taken it easy on her as a result. This, after all is a woman who admittedly used heroin before, during, and after her pregnancy. While Kurt was missing the week before he killed himself, Courtney was trolling drug houses looking for more heroin, instead of searching for her suicidal husband. All of this is mentioned, but only briefly. (At one point, Cobain’s manager is quoted as saying something like “it’s so unfair that people think you can’t be an addict and a good parent at the same time.”)

People forget that Courtney Love essentially wrote the blueprint for the drug-addled, self obsessed train wrecks that we see today in the likes of Britney Spears. She was a crazy addict before it was cool. In fact, the Foo Fighters are still good for one anti-Courtney song per album. (“How can it be/I’m the only one who sees/your rehearsed insanity,” from “I’ll Stick Around,” for instance.)

What also struck me while reading the book is that the Nirvana Era might be the last time we’ll see the best music being made that also happens to be the most popular music in the world. Since then, the music industry has fractured, with many of the best acts having to settle on being marketed to niche audiences. One could argue that Radiohead has gotten close, and I’m not too much of a music snob not to appreciate some of Dave Matthews’ best work, but I can’t think of a recent time when critical and commercial praise were so far apart (with all apologies to Lou Bega.) I am open to being debated about this.

The book also briefly details Nirvana’s time in Madison, where they laid down some of the first tracks that would eventually become the “Nevermind” album – widely considered one of the best albums of the past 25 years. It blows my mind that somewhere in Madison, these tapes are sitting there collecting dust. For music fans, these tapes are like the Shroud of Turin – and they’re right here in Wisconsin. This should be front page news every day. If these were the original tapes for “Abbey Road” or something, Madison would be crawling with poorly dressed Europeans, pining for a peek at them. I demand that the State Historical Society recognize this fact and that we get a day off from work in remembrance.

It’s also remarkable that the three month-old baby featured on the cover of the Nevermind album is now 17 years old. Spencer Elden’s Wikipedia page says he was accepted to Princeton for next year (so it must be true). Oddly, I feel some strange affinity for this kid. Not like he’s my child, but the child of my generation. So I wish him the best in college, as long as he doesn’t call me and ask for beer money.

UPDATE: A friend e-mails me with a story about the Nevermind tapes in Madison:

“An old friend/acquaintance of mine who had a band was doing some recording at Smart Studios. He invited me and another friend to the studio. He showed us around, and was talking about all the amps they had that they could just grab and use for the recording. Then he showed us the tape archives. He picked up this tape and said look, this is the original tape of the Nirvana Nevermind sessions. It was labeled Nirvana Master Tape or something like that. The tape was just sitting there on the shelf, like the CD’s in my basement.”

For 34 years, I’ve tried to live a good life. I’ve (often times) been kind, courteous and giving. Yet this video alone has shaken my belief that God exists. I can forgive typhoid fever and tsunamis. But no benevolent being would ever allow people to see this:

On the one hand, this makes me want to go vote for Obama. But on the other hand, I now know what being a Vietnamese prisoner of war must be like.

MAJOR UPDATE: The McCain Girls have a special, heartfelt message for me.

In response to yesterday’s post about the voice mails crazy drunk people leave with their state senators, another office has sent me a gem that they received. There’s really no setup for this one, but I tried to offer some visual aids in the video to help you follow the story. Then I just quit.

Back in 2006, the proposed Wisconsin smoking ban was still a hot issue. Those of us working in the Legislature had to field all kinds of calls from people angry that the government was going to take away their right to smoke in bars. Generally, these calls came from people physically present in a bar at the time of the call.

The real gems, however, were the voice mail messages you heard in the morning, when you got into work. Inevitably, some guy would call from his barstool and leave a completely incoherent message at 2 AM.

Here’s the best one I heard, from the voice mail of now-deposed State Senator Ron Brown. At the time, Brown had sent out a newsletter looking for input on the smoking ban, and this gentleman would like to register his feelings on the matter. This is just one of many that we heard, and I assure you it is 100% representative of the anti-smoking ban calls that we got.

The audio is a little rough, since it was taken off an office phone, but stick with it. And it is not safe for work, unless you work in a bar.

The anti-smoking forces have to be shaking in their boots with a lobbying effort like this. Nice to see this guy exercising his right to petition his government for the redress of grievances. Unfortunately his grievance happens to be the desire to get BLAZED!

I hate to get all Jeremiah Wright on everybody, but I noticed something at the grocery store this morning. Maybe this is my inner liberal coming out, but for some reason I still cringe when presented with the choice of buying Aunt Jemima or Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup.

And yes, apparently Mrs. Butterworth is black, although it has been decades since they’ve used her as a human image. Maybe their company recognized that this matronly image was an affront to African Syrup Americans.

In fact, you’d be much better off buying Uncle Jemima’s Mash Liquor:

So within the same week, my sister gets home from Iraq and her alma mater, the Kansas Jayhawks, win the national championship. Not bad.

More importantly, I picked Kansas to win when I filled out my bracket, which was the only thing I managed to do right. After two rounds, I was ranked 92nd in a pool of 104 teams. With the KU win tonight, I finished a respectable 26th – although dead last among people who picked Kansas to win.

And while Derrick Rose is probably crushed at the Memphis loss tonight, just imagine how excited he’ll be later in the year when he’s drafted by the Bucks.

(Actually, I take that back – someone might want to make sure there aren’t any sharp objects near him on draft night.)

Oh, and Billy Packer is still an insufferable prick. That’s just a little bonus observation.

Big news at the Capitol:

A toll-free hotline is now available for citizens to report fraud, waste, and mismanagement in state government. Call 1-877-FRAUD-17 or 1-877-372-8317.

(Dialing…)

“Yes, hello? I have some waste in state government to report. I think it’s a waste of my tax dollars to have someone sitting around all day answering the phones, pretending that the waste people call in and identify is going to make any difference in state government at all. In fact, isn’t that why we provide every state legislator with their own 800 number? To take calls from concerned constituents?”

“Oh, and as long as I have you on the phone, I think the state health plan also should not cover the cost of toupees.”

For months now, I have passed the frozen foods section of our grocery store with an eye on a product that it seems couldn’t possibly be any good: White Castle microwavable burgers. But having put down six Whiteys sliders after a concert in Chicago a few weeks ago, I thought it was time to give them a try, if only for the sake of my own amusement.

Surprisingly, they’re not really all that unhealthy. 17 grams of fat per two burgers, which is the same amount as one hot dog. You have to wrap a pack of two burgers in a paper towel, and microwave them for 60 seconds.

Admittedly, when I first had the idea of doing this post, I thought I was going to go into great detail about how disgusting they are. But I have to admit – they’re actually not half bad. Perhaps the main benefit they have going for them is that the actual food they are meant to replicate is so bad to begin with. Whiteys sliders are good for a 3 AM after bar meal, but aren’t exactly a delicacy at noon. So because the bar is so low to begin with, they actually meet it easily.

In fact, given the microwave directions, the heating is just perfect. The meat gets hot, while the bun warms up, but doesn’t get soggy. Naturally, you’re better off having plenty of ketchup nearby to make the taste more tolerable.

So if you’re looking for a 60 second snack that takes you back to the old days of getting hammered at the bars and scavenging for food (“old days” = “last week”), you could do a lot worse than White Castle frozen burgers.

Four out of five trousers.

Last night, my wife and I headed down to the High Noon Saloon to see Vampire Weekend in concert. There are very few bands we can agree on, so I was happy we could finally go see a show together. The show barely lasted an hour, which was fine with her, since she’s usually in bed by 10:00. It was really nice to have a little “alone time.”

Rewind to about a month ago, when I was at a bar to see a friend of mine who had come into town for a day. A bunch of his friends got together to celebrate his return. In the midst of the evening, I ended up talking to two nice girls with whom I shared a common friend. (These two were among a host of both males and females I ended up meeting that night.)

After the show last night, my wife and I are walking to our car, and of course – we bump into these two girls. I couldn’t remember their names, but one of them said, “Chris… right?” I immediately sensed trouble.

What followed was perhaps the most awkward attempt ever of introducing people to your wife.

“Hey, Honey… these are some girls… uhhhhh….. that I met in a bar. Girls that I met in a bar, this is my wife.”

Fortunately, I think all involved recognized the weirdness, and had a good laugh. Although I have a little pain in my neck for being forced to sleep on the couch.