Jeremy Eaton

While it's true that I live, breathe, eat, poop, burp, and sneeze television, there was a time in my life when my career could've taken a very different route indeed.

Though it may shock the underpants off some, I actually came this close to chucking my career as a smart-assy columnist to live the glamorous life of a long-haired rock 'n' roller. HEY!! What the fawk you laughing at?!? I'm serious! In my younger days, I was highly regarded amongst my peers as an extremely talented singer/songwriter--stop laughing--and started many of the bands that are enjoying notoriety within today's music "scene." (I swear to God. One more giggle and I'll cram my Rickenbacker bass right up your can!)

Need proof? FINE. Ever heard of a little band called Los Eyeliners? This was a very influential "goth-samba" band I started in the basement of our dorm. And though we never actually cut an album and only played one gig in the laundry room of an apartment complex, people still talk about that performance to this very DAY (primarily because our bassist downed an entire bottle of tequila and cracked his head open on the Maytag)!

Or maybe you've heard of my country-western/ all-Journey cover band, Big Nose. And though we broke up after just one rehearsal, many, MANY people said it was, QUOTE, "a very good idea."

But perhaps my most popular band was Häagën-Däüshund--a lugubrious hair-metal band that wrote 30-hour rock operas, rode unicycles, and dressed in torn teddies purchased from a Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue. Actually people had a little trouble coming to terms with that one.

Anyhoo! The reason I bring all this up is because I never should've let the muse of music that resides within my tortured soul die. I would've never let it croak had I known that one day, there would be a show that brings my two favorite loves (performing in shitty bands and television) together! It's called Bands on the Run (VH1, marathon on Sunday, May 13, starting at 3:30 p.m.), and it documents the true trials and tribulations of four bands on the road. And just to make things interesting, the groups compete against each other for cash, gear, and a chance to sell their immortal souls for a record contract!

Here's how it works: The rockers are given touring vans and 20 bucks a day to live on, and then are sent all over the country to play gigs. They have to promote their own shows and sell their own merchandise (score their own drugs, sleep in their own vomit, etc.); the band with the most dough-re-mi at the end of the tour wins the grand prize of 50 grand!

Now I admit to originally being dubious about this show. But as it turns out, it's heee-larious! The bands race around the country getting loaded, laid, and crashing their vans--just like my old bands used to! But even more important? Bands on the Run slyly captures the hard truth: In the end, it doesn't matter how crappy your band is. If you're willing to prostitute yourself to annoying radio stations and play before throngs of drunken frat guys, then success is assured. Hey! Maybe it's time to get Häagën-Däüshund back together again!