***UPDATED… The city council is postponing their meeting tonight due to the weather, so we will postpone the watch party as well… See latest post for more info***

To rehash — Starting at 6:30, the Edgewater Debate Watch Party will get underway at Amy’s Cafe. Everyone is welcome, and stimulating discussion is encouraged. The bar staff should be expecting us and will have the game… rrr, the meeting on TV, and maybe even some bar specials for us. The snow might slow down some of the people from the outlying regions, but the event will occur as long as the meeting itself happens. If the city council meeting is cancelled, so is the watch party, which makes sense I guess.

I hope to see a good crowd of interested citizenry, and in addition, I expect a few bloggers, pundits, politicians, former alders and media types, so it could be insightful as well as entertaining. Dane101 will certainly be well-represented. Bloggers are encouraged to come armed (with laptops), and provide amusement for members of the city council, as they are providing amusement for us. I do not have the technological capacity to set up a webcam, but if you do, Alder Mark Clear would appreciate it.

I’ll print off a couple sets of Jill Sixpack’s Madison Common Council Bingo cards for interested players, and I’ve also compiled a final list of rules for the Edgewater Debate Drinking Game. I had some help from readers and a certain Cap Times city reporter, but here’s how the game is played:

See you at Amy’s!

Okay, I’m sensing enough interest to do this out in public.

Engaged citizens, bloggers, media-types, political junkies, policy-makers, masochists and anybody else who isn’t afraid to combine beer, politics and crass humor — you’re all invited to the first ever (to my knowledge) city council debate watch party. It’s a chance to analyze, dispute, poke fun at and, most importantly, use alcohol to deaden yourself to the effects of the proposed Edgewater Hotel Redevelopment, one of the most divisive issues to come before the council this year.

The party starts at the same time as the council meeting — 6:30 PM, Tuesday December 8th at Amy’s Cafe near the corner of Gilman and State. The bar manager assures me they can put the debate on TV, and I’m still working on rules for an Edgewater Debate Drinking Game. I could use some suggestions as far as rules go, too. A certain County Supervisor says he’ll put together some Edgewater Debate Bingo cards, and if anyone else has any ideas, don’t hesitate to throw them out there.

I’m very interested to see what happens when so many informed, opinionated people are gathered into one place. Of course, it goes without saying the table talk will have to be light-hearted.

Tell your friends, and if you really want to geek out, bring your laptop, bloggers. Give a heads up if you plan to come.

If any of the back row regulars at city council meetings had a nickel for every time they’d heard me lament the fact that I didn’t have a drink in hand, they’d have a pile of nickels you could respect the hell out of.

Of course, as storied a history as journalism and alcohol have together, I don’t think I would ever actually cross that line and sneak a flask or a forty into the council chambers. Never mind that it would be incredibly unprofessional, uncouth and the potential grounds for my termination. I was raised in a family where you brought enough for everybody or you didn’t bring any at all. There are a lot of people in that room, and I get the impression quite a few of them are very thirsty.

Nonetheless, I might finally get my chance to watch a city council debate while throwing a few back.

As many of you may know, what is debatably the most controversial, divisive issue to come before the city council this year — the proposed redevelopment of the Edgewater Hotel — will be taken up at next Tuesday’s city council meeting. Basically, if the Mayor isn’t able to get 14 yes votes to overturn a rejection by the Landmarks Commission, the plan, as it stands, is dead in the water. Under pressure from his board of directors and investors, developer Bob Dunn has said in no uncertain terms he will NOT seek to retool the project to appease the commission.

So high noon falls at 6:30 PM on December 8th. Dozens of worked up supporters and detractors of the project will pack the city council chambers to sound off during public hearings. Then, in the first real item on the agenda, the alders will get their turn, and the real fireworks will begin.

But on the night of the Super Bowl of city council debates, I’m going to be sidelined.

We’re in a recession. Our news room was understaffed. Then my buddy Erik left the news room to take a job in the governor’s office, and now we’re uber-understaffed until we hire a replacement. I’m told it’s something they’re working on, but until it gets done, I’m basically chained to an anchor’s desk on daysides.

I gave brief consideration to attending the meeting off the clock, and I haven’t ruled it out. But my mind got to percolating, and I decided I might be more comfortable watching the meeting from a couch or a barstool. Then I got really delusional and got to wondering if there might be anyone else as warped as me.

So I’m inviting fellow engaged citizens, bloggers, media-types, political junkies, policy-makers, masochists and anybody else who isn’t afraid to combine beer, politics and crass humor to the first ever CITY COUNCIL SUPERBOWL WATCH PARTY. Anyone’s welcome, supporter or detractor, as long as we’re agreed the debate will remain in the realm of civil, good-natured ribbing. Just let me know by Monday night if you think you want to come — leave a comment on the blog or shoot me an email.

If the interest is as minimal as I’m expecting, I’ll fire up the grill and host in my living room with a couple cases of beer. If enough people want to spend an evening watching city council debates and talking smack, I know a couple bars I think we could take over without too much trouble.

Of course, what’s a watch party without an associated drinking game? I’m working on the rules for that right now, and need suggestions — again, comment them or email me. I briefly considered making the rule that, “as long as Thuy Pham-Remmele is talking but NOT making sense, chug your drink,” but decided an ambulance visit would really dampen the evening. However, some other potential rules:

1. Any time an indecipherable city planning acronym is mentioned (TIF, RFP, UDC, etc), last person to blurt out what it stands for takes a drink.
2. Any time the mayor yields his seat to the city council president, players must sip from the opposite side of their glass for the duration or take an additional penalty drink.
3. Any time a city staffer is flummoxed by a baffling question, take a drink.
4. If the council takes a recess, players must take a drink for every minute beyond the allotted time the council waits to reconvene.
5. Any time Alder Tim Bruer makes a bad pun, take a drink.
6. Any time Alder Tim Bruer makes a good pun, finish your drink.
7. Any time one of the following terms or phrases is mentioned, take a drink — TIF, height limitation, historic district, right of way, waterfront, visually incompatible, media (more?)
8. Any time one of the following words or phrases is mentioned, finish your drink — hill people, turd spigot, bloggers, (more?)
9. When the final vote happens, supporters of the project buy the opposition drinks if the opposition wins and vice versa. Those who didn’t pick a side sit back and laugh at how worked up everybody else is, then secretly wish someone would buy them a drink.

Again, I need all the suggestions for rules and terms I can get. Email them to me or comment on the blog, and I’ll post a final draft of “Edgewater Debate Drinking Game” rules before Monday morning. Also, express your interest if you’re coming, so I can make arrangements to have a place to view the debate. The watch party starts at 7:00 Tuesday, and I’ll announce a location Monday night.

Did civic engagement ever sound so good?

Speaking of which, this is a big vote, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t urge you to contact your Alder and voice your opinion. I’m in support, so I urge you doubly so if we share that view.

“An OGRE?!? I ought to club them and eat their bones!”

Though it always goes without saying, this blog represents my opinion as a resident of Madison. While I draw from my knowledge and experiences as a reporter, I write everything you see here off the clock, and as a proud professional, I’m able to keep my personal feelings from influencing the work I do when I’m wearing my “reporter’s hat.” Just sayin’ is all.

If someone came up to me and said, “Hey, I’ve got a few dozen million dollars, and I want to sink it into making a faded icon of a bygone era that sits on your block shine again. You’ll get a better view of the lake, improved access to the waterfront and a much classier-looking neighbor. Oh yeah, and we’ll throw in an open air bar you can drink at,” I think I’d be knocked speechless, for starters.

It’s the statistical equivalent of walking down a beach and finding a genie in a bottle — millions to one. Yet after weighing your options, carefully considering each potential move and finding there is indeed a way for you to benefit by it, you’d be a fool to throw that bottle back into the ocean… right?

Apparently not if all you wanted from your walk on the beach was to be left in utter, destitute peace, I guess.

The genie and the bottle scenario is the stuff of fantasies. The neighborhood icon could have been a reality in Madison, and still could be, but not if a handful of stubborn, narrow-minded curmudgeonly residents of the Mansion Hill neighborhood succeed in their goal of squelching a proposed project. Unfortunately, they’re accustomed to getting their way.

Madison’s Edgewater Hotel was once the stuff legends are made of. In its decades on the waterfront, it’s hosted Elvis Presley, Bob Hope and Bob Marley, to name just a few. But the years have been hard on the building, and its squat profile on the downhill slope at the end of Wisconsin Avenue do little to make it appear exciting or inviting in its current form.

A guy named Bob Dunn had something he wanted to do about that. A prodigal son returned to his hometown, Dunn and Hammes Company proposed a visionary redevelopment of the building that would replace the uninspired architecture with a grand plaza open to the public, where anyone could meander easily off the street and gaze out over the lake, or grab a drink at the bar, or wander down to the lakefront. A sleek tower of hotel rooms would lend the structure some majesty and expand its capacity from a Podunk 107 rooms to a respectable 225-ish.

And through it all, Dunn would lead the project with experience gleaned from the successful rejuvenation of another once-faded icon, Green Bay’s Lambeau Field. I speak as more than a rabid Packers fan when I say that, while a game in Green Bay was always an event to be envied by football aficionados the nation over, it’s now an unrivaled world-class experience. The man is clearly a master of his trade.

But the Hill People aren’t interested in having a national gem on their door steps. They say it’s too big, and it doesn’t “fit with the character” of their neighborhood. They claim it will draw too much traffic onto their “quiet little” four-lane street. They gaze backward at someone else’s broken promises from decades ago and cite those as reasons not to trust this developer.

They’re as shortsighted as they are self-serving. I’ve watched for months as Dunn has modified his plans to appease the so-called “neighborhood group,” which in reality represents a small minority of residents with a disproportionately loud voice. Dunn has acquired more land in order to slide the hotel tower further to the side, thus providing a better view of the lake from the street — at their request. Dunn has rearranged the configuration of the driveway through his design to keep traffic from accumulating on the street — at their request. Dunn has even lowered the height of his proposed tower, cutting hotel rooms from the design and profitability from his project — at their request.

He’s met with them on dozens of occasions to hear them voice their concerns. He’s spent tens of thousands of dollars (*edit* Alder Mark Clear puts the figure at around a million) in staff time to try and gain their favor. He’s done everything short of offering up his firstborn child, but ever since the Hill People dug in their heels, they’ve been unrelenting in their opposition to Dunn planting so much as a shrubbery on the property.

Their baffling persistence in the face of an evolving plan leaves me feeling like it’s not any aspect of the plan itself the Hill People are opposed to — it’s anything vibrant and alive they hate. They don’t want you to be able to take in the view from a majestic public terrace, because they’d just as soon not have you around. They don’t want to hear the laughter of children or the tinkling of music on a warm night. They moved onto the hill to be left alone, and like ogres, they’ll blindly attack anything that wanders into their domain. The only way they would be completely content would be if the Edgewater would slough off the hill into the lake tomorrow.

They need to grow up. They need to come to terms with the fact that Madison is not the cozy little berg of 13,000 that it was in 1890. They need to accept that tall buildings have a place in cities — that in fact, most great landmarks stand out somewhat from their surroundings, yet still enhance the area as a whole. Because the notion that one well-designed hotel tower and an accompanying plaza will bring a historic district crumbling down is ludicrous.

I’ll say this: the Hill People are persuasive. They’ve got five members of the powerful Landmarks Commission eating right out of their hands, and they’ve used that majority to stall the project dead in the arduous city approvals process. It’s an embarrassment to that vital process, which is designed to weed out bad proposals and prevent regrettable mistakes, when a well-designed project can be so easily hijacked by a small minority. It exposes a vulnerability that needs to be fixed.

The city council can overturn the commission’s decision with a 14-vote supermajority. There’s already a movement among alders to try and make this happen, but ultimately, it’s up to Bob Dunn whether he wants to appeal. If he makes that decision by noon Wednesday, the issue could come before the entire council at next Tuesday’s city council meeting. But at this point, I wouldn’t blame the man for turning his back on the city and walking away, disgusted.

Dunn’s got to be wondering if his effort is worth it, at this point. His investors certainly are, with millions of dollars hanging on the line for a project that may or may not happen. Dunn’s been described as “short-tempered,” “brash” and “insensitive” by people who have followed this process closely. Honestly, if I came to a city with millions of dollars to sink into a landmark, which would in turn generate millions more in property taxes and economic impact, create jobs and be pretty darn cool to boot — only to face a tooth and nail fight at every turn — I’d be a little salty too.

I hope he sticks with it. I hope the city council has more common sense and overturns the Landmarks Commission’s ridiculous, arbitrary decision. I hope to see this project continue through an already thorough vetting to the point where we get to debate whether taxpayer-backed Tax Increment Funding should be used to help it along, because I feel that’s an interesting debate that’s really worth having.

But if this is where the road ends for the Edgewater Project, we’ve got more than a shame on our hands. We’re sending a message to every visionary out there — people like Frank Loyd Wright, who designed the Monona Terrace, only to have it rejected. 40 years after his death, the project was resurrected, built, and now stands as one of the city’s most iconic structures.

Maybe the next visionary will bypass Madison completely, and leave the ogres to sit on their hill undisturbed.