As if I didn't feel old enough, a couple of days ago, I looked down at a Rolling Stone magazine and noticed that Guns N' Roses' Appetite for Destruction is 20 years old.

There are very few sure things in the life of a teenage boy. Mostly, you spend your time trying on different personae, and seeing which ones feel right. You have very few original thoughts. You like things because your friends like them, or because certain celebrities like them, or because you don't know any different and have never thought about any alternatives. But the moment I saw the video for "Welcome to the Jungle" on MTV, I instantly knew that I liked Guns N' Roses. Without hesitation. This was something I could get behind: a meaningful soundtrack to my thickly mulletted Beavis-and-Butthead lifestyle.

I think I saw the video two, maybe three more times before rushing off to Kmart to buy the album. From then on, Appetite, dubbed onto a crappy Walgreens Tonemaster cassette, was what I jammed into my GE knockoff Walkman when storming out of the house in my black jean jacket to go hang out in front of the Jet gas station.

But the question on my mind 20 years later, after high school and college and all kinds of Midwestern adventure and routine, is why did I like Guns N' Roses so much in the first place? It's not as if I wanted to be anything like them. You got the feeling watching GN'R that if not for rock & roll stardom, these guys would've ended up running the Zipper at the county fair.

I didn't identify with their experiences, either. On Appetite at least, their songs seemed autobiographical, peopled with characters out of their own sordid lives. They sang about big-city nightlife, drug addicts, crack whores, desperate party girls, and cramming too much experience into a short life. And absolutely none of it seemed glamorous or even desirable to me.

At the time, Motley Crue was busy riding in Jacuzzis in the back of limos, singing about their favorite strip clubs, and trying to play the game that Van Halen had been perfecting for years: Presenting themselves at the ultimate party animals. Living the life that the average 19-year-old factory worker dreams about as he scratches off his lotto tickets.

Mainly, the attraction was that Guns N' Roses seemed to be the genuine article. Even I, a stupid 14-year-old, could see that. Axl Rose seemed like a tough Midwestern kid who'd left the trailer park for the West Coast to be a rock star, and gotten himself into some very fucked up situations in the process. It worked out for him, but listening to the lyrics on Appetite, you got the impression that that was a fluke.

Around the same time, Poison released their hit single "Fallen Angel," about a small-town girl who went off to find fortune and fame but lost her soul. While the song undeniably rocked, it was, at its heart, about a girl who succeeded. She became a famous actress, but forgot her roots. Boo-fucking-hoo. GN'R's similarly themed "My Michelle" makes you want to take a Silkwoodesque shower after listening to it.

I don't remember what my favorite song off Appetite was back then, but the one that has stuck with me through the years is "Nighttrain." There are three love songs on the album, and two of them are about women. "Nighttrain" is an ode to the most vile beverage ever concocted. Here is a full-fledged rock star singing about his adoration of bum wine and the entire lifestyle surrounding it. "Wake up late, honey, put on your clothes and take your credit card to the liquor store." These are the lyrics that are blaring from your truck's sound system when you finish your shift at Wal-mart and peel out on your way to party in Proctor. If there was any question as to whether or not Axl is a white trash redneck posing as a West Coast struttin' one bad mother with a rattlesnake suitcase under his arm, this song is it.

When Guns N' Roses' EP, GN'R Lies came out, I considered it nothing more than an extension of Appetite for Destruction, but by the time Use Your Illusion I & II hit the shelves, I didn't feel the magic anymore. The songs were still autobiographical, but I didn't care. I had no interest in what Axl thought about Bob Guccione Jr. from Spin magazine, or vice versa.

I don't even want to discuss The Spaghetti Incident.

Then again, maybe I should give 'em another shot. After all, I'm obviously much older.