THE WYMAN WEEKLY

Underemployed. Unattached. Unimpressed.

Issue 17 June 16,1996

 

 

 

“How can you think and hit at the same time?” - Yogi Berra

 

A HOMERIC (AS IN SIMPSON) TALE

 

You go to the Uptown Bar with the intent of sipping on a brewha and doing some writing and you forget your goddamn fucking ID. You’ve been stupid in your life, but never this stupid. And being a moron - you look like maybe twenty-one and you know you’re gonna get carded - you try and order a beer anyway. Hey man, nice shot. The bartender says he can’t serve you and you agree (‘cause he’s doing his job and you fucked up and you never never squawk at people - especially bartenders - who are doing their job right) and proceed to calmly order a soda. Some fat fuck dark-haired guy sitting next to you at the bar wearing a white shirt, tie, suspenders, designer glasses and sporting a cellular phone bellows (yes, bellows) at you “MAY I ASK A QUESTION?? HOW IN THE WORLD COULD YOU DO SOMETHING STUPID LIKE GO INTO A BAR WITHOUT YOUR ID??” Because I’m stupid, you meekly explain. Fatty proceeds to lecture you on how they can’t serve you without an ID no matter how old you are. You explain to Tubby that you know that, you’ve been legal for damn near twelve years now - hence your refusal to whine to the bartender, but Jumbo ain’t listening. “THOSE ARE THE RULES... BLAH BLAH BLAH.” He shuts up for a couple of seconds and you pull out your notebook; as you can give a fuck about his second lecture, which is the age-old Minneapolis-ain’t-Saint Paul-and-Saint Paul-ain’t-Minneapolis fare. Yeah, no shit Sherlock - and Grand Forks ain’t East Grand Forks. You’ve heard the same sorry tune your whole life and used to sing it yourself once or twice but you’ve just come off a day where someone at the office you’re hanging out at called you a traitor for having the audacity to read the Pioneer Press so now you’re Mister Peace and Understanding. Thankfully, a waitress who kinda looks like PJ Harvey in her Dry days - but with short hair - informs you that your table outside on the patio is ready and you go out there and eat your supper of fried eggs and hash browns and more Diet Cokes.

 

UNDEREMPLOYMENT

 

Lately I’m working in some building in some part of Minneapolis where I have to slick myself up in business attire (a tie, I’m convinced, is somehow responsible for my bonehead no-ID brain fade described above) every morning to transform myself into some company’s interim accounting manager. Yeah, that’s right - manager. Of course, I’m their only accountant and on Tuesdays and Thursdays I call myself the interim controller. I’m just counting the beans until they hire somebody else permanently. “You couldn’t afford me.” I told the owner (in a daydream.) So I’m like an interim coach in sports who nobody expects much of - but he sure is a nice guy. This company is staffed almost exclusively by ladies my mom’s age who leave me alone so I don’t have to make much small talk. The owner’s son has the office next to me and he takes lots of naps.

 

WHO PUT THE QUARTER IN ME?

 

Ten years ago Metallica was coming off of the one-two punch of their debut album (seek-and-destroy Sabbath riffs accelerated into what would be termed “speed metal”) and their second (Hemingway quotes, CNN-influenced topical lyrics, and more crunch than the Cap’n himself) when they put out their third. The album had the mix all down right; complete with spooky teen psychodramas, anti-war and anti-power slash-and-burn tirades, the most terrifying drug song since “Sister Morphine” and one of the tastiest instrumentals in years. The music? Speed metal - the genre which Metallica didn’t necessarily invent but by being the best and the brightest they were its most important exponent - was most accurately described by Chuck Eddy: “resurrecting the stamina of garage-era metal, speeding it past comprehension, discarding flash, and incorporating U-turns-at-ninety learned from old Mahavishnu LP’s.” The album was titled Master of Puppets and it went platinum without benefit of a video and virtually no radio play. Keep in mind that Master came out back in ‘86, when nerf metal bands, Springsteen, Prince, Madonna and a host of others were ruling the airwaves and MTV. “Alternative rock” was still called “college rock.” Yet our black jean and black tee-shirt wearing heroes in Metallica were shunned by the mainstream and by most metal fans yet still sold a million discs and tapes and were spawning an underground movement of populist legend proportions. Sounds like they were an alternative to something, don’t it? Metallica went on to blow Van Halen (in ‘88) and Guns ‘n’ Roses (in ‘92) off the stage during joint tours; release two more superb albums (plus a killer EP of covers); and then fade from the limelight as the Nirvana/Pearl Jam wing (i.e. the American guitar bands who aren’t wussies like those precious Brits) of alternative rock took over.

 

Now the mighty Met is back with a new album and a headlining spot on the Lollapalooza tour and the alternative hipsters are crying in their espressos. The main rip is - get this - that the Met boys all got haircuts and are wearing white tee-shirts on some of the pictures in the CD booklet so they must be “going alternative.” (Shawn Stewart on Rev105: “they must have had a band meeting and decided to dress alike.”) Of course, if these judges of cool were to ever pull out one of those old Met albums (they’ll have to borrow mine because they were all probably listening to the Hooters or the Outfield or somebody else back then) they’ll see that Met used to dress alike with their favorite outfit being sneakers, ripped black jeans, and black tee-shirts. But I guess ever since Henry Rollins appeared in that Gap ad it proved once and for all that we should judge our music artists on the clothes they wear. Another complaint is that Metallica’s headlining Lollapalooza is scaring away alternative kids in droves because they don’t like metal. Okay, but what about the other Lollapalooza artists? Lessee, 1) Soundgarden - they’re a metal band too. Don’t believe me? Do they sound more like Black Sabbath or the Velvet Underground? Case closed. 2) Rancid - half of their last album could be termed metal but they wear mohawks. 3) The Ramones - too redundant to reach metal’s level. They’ve done the same thing over and over for twenty years and also dress alike but in their case it’s judged cool. AC/DC has done the same thing over and over for twenty years but their music also swings and features tasty blues riffs, yet they’re uncool - go figure. 4) Rage Against the Machine - metal, metal, metal. 5) Waylon Jennings - not metal, but don’t get me going on the discrimination against country artists... Anyway, I refuse to buy into the notion that the likes of Smashing Pumpkins are the epitome of high-energy music. (Though Billy Corgan told me in Spin that his band would “kick your ass harder than anyone else.” Yeah, and I’m Brad Pitt.) The hipster crybabies can howl all they want or they can go out and buy Metallica’s latest, Load, and hear a promising sign that rock ‘n’ roll may not yet turn into folk music whispered and strummed in coffee shops. Load is heavier, harder and simply better than anything you’ll hear by the Pumpkins, Perry Farrell or whoever else is trying to pass themselves off as a kick-ass band these days.

 

I HAVE FIVE REMOTES

 

Another hockey season has wound down with the triple-overtime thriller won (along with the Stanley Cup) by the Colorado Avalanche. ESPN’s Gary Thorne was in prime form, dropping yet another reference to going to the bar after the game during his play-by-play. “If it wasn’t for those saves,” he said during an overtime break after clips were shown of brilliant goalie saves, “we’d be in the bar right now.” Gary also was sure to hype up the coming of ESPN’s third network in November.  The network, called ESPNews, will show nothing but sports news, highlights, breaking stories, press conferences, etc. Are you thinking the same thing as me - what took ‘em so long?