THE WYMAN WEEKLY

Underemployed. Unattached. Unimpressed.

Issue 25 October 3,1996

 

 

 

Do not mock Old Age in the pages of your weekly. I’ve been laid up here at home for a couple of days with an aching back. The only time I’m comfortable is laying flat on the floor with my legs propped up on a chair. Went to the doctor (nurse, actually) and was told to take some ibuprofen. Big surprise. The nurse thought I was cute and funny and loved talking to me. Too bad the nurse was a man, although on the plus side he did kind of remind me of Jack Fountain.

 

GOD’S GAME

 

The plus side of laying on my floor for good portions of the afternoon is that I get to watch some of the playoff baseball games. It’s tough to choose between The Team With The Guy Who Chased Little Kids In His Car and The Team With The Guy Who Spit On An Umpire, but it goes against my nature to watch a game and not cheer for somebody. So I’m going for the Orioles. I’m also going for the Rangers (who I said in a typically brilliant moment last June “would never make the playoffs”) because I’ve never cheered for the Yankees in my life. I truly love those National League games because there’s nothing more exciting than watching a pitcher lamely swing and miss on three straight pitches.

 

SERVE THE SERVANTS?

 

In late 1991, Izzy Stradlin, rhythm guitarist and songwriter, quit Guns ‘n’ Roses at the height of their popularity. Around the same time I was hating my job (for the first of many times) and one night I had a dream where I replaced him in the band. I was in the studio and Axl was being an asshole and we were playing some fast punkish thing from Appetite and my fingers flew up and down the fretboard of my Telecaster like a dream (oh yeah) and a few feet away Slash was smiling and playing some cool leads. By the end of the way-too-short dream even Axl liked me and I was set to quit (deleted) and go out on the Use Your Illusion tour.

 

In real life, I didn’t join the band and after Izzy quit all they’ve done besides some tours is released an album of punk covers. Izzy was the main songwriter, see, and just like you can’t imagine the Stones without Keith you can’t really have GNR without Izzy.

 

But Izzy’s replacement injured himself in 1993 and for some European dates GNR came begging and Izzy filled in because he knew all the songs. And I can once again be like Izzy as (deleted)  asked me to come in this week to help ‘em out for a few days. After hearing the message on my machine, fantasies ran amok in my brain. The poster child of the (deleted)  Alumni (and there’s loads of us) returns at a marked-up rate. I could charge them an arm and leg (like they used to do with my time to clients) for my services. I could see myself posting the weekly on the bulletin board - F bombs fully intact too - right next to the quality memos and news of the bigshots. But then reality set in. Would being out in that bland office bring out my old behavior? Would I prowl the hallways with a scowl on my face and my I Heart My Attitude Problem coffee mug in my hand? Would I get fucked up at night not caring how bad of a hangover I would have at work the next day? So I didn’t go work for them but if I did I could always say the same thing when I was done that Izzy said after his brief return: “Nice to see ‘em, wouldn’t want to be ‘em.”

 

NIGHTCLUB JITTERS

 

It hasn’t been on purpose, but I’ve been down to Lee’s to check out bands three times in the last two weeks. It’s not like the place has reached hangout status. I’d still rather see a band in the Entry - even if the cover is more - because the sight lines are a lot better than Lee’s awkward setup. But in my club-going cycle, Lee’s has been the place lately. A couple of Fridays ago I saw a surf band from Boston, whose name I don’t recall. (That would be my Reagan imitation.) Then last Wednesday I saw Trailer Trash (reference weekly #14 as it was just about the same night as then except I enjoyed the Premium more and didn’t get bounced around as much and two girls actually looked in my general direction.) Last Saturday I saw the Bent Scepters and The Exotics. The Bent Scepters were from Iowa City and look like some band you’d see playing on Mystery Science Theater 3000 in an episode where the kids are at one of those mid-sixties dances before the space monster terrorizes them. (Crow: no wonder the British bands had it easy!) However, they sounded great - too clean to be called a garage band, but they had poppy, short songs with organ and tambourine on a few songs, which is usually a good sign. The Exotics were a surf band from Milwaukee with Fender guitars, pompadours, and matching maroon and white bowling-type shirts. They were awash in echo and reverb and set my toes tapping with their mixture of original and classic surf tunes.

 

SOME STORY

 

There’s this young guy at work who’s a temp like me but not really because he’s a financial analyst who they brought in from one of those Big Six firms. (Does the Big Six truly exist? I mean their games are never on TV and I don’t see their teams in any bowl games.) Anyway, we also have this extremely cute - and extremely young - temp secretary. So last Friday I’m staring at my computer and dreaming of doing some writing with one of those iced coffees at Caffe Solo and I hear the young man and young lady talking on the other side of my partition. Here’s the conversation, with his quotes in italics:

 

“So where do you live?” I have a house in Roseville. “A house?” Yeah, I own a house in Roseville.

 

At first I couldn’t believe what he was saying - it was flawless and since he looks like John Elway and makes a ton of money I figured he’d never had to brush up on his lines too much - just saying you own a house drives the gals nuts. It shows you can do the domestic commitment thing.

 

“Did you grow up around here?” Oh yeah, I grew up in Roseville. In fact, my house is about a mile from where my parents live. “That’s gotta be nice.” Yeah, I’m close to my family.

 

This guy is smooth! But there’s no way he can keep up the facade...c’mon buddy, you know you’re going to slip up and mention football, beer, or poker...abort the mission before you get cocky!

 

“Oh, you must see them quite a bit.” Well, my dad’s getting up there in age and they have a huge lot and I like to be around to help out with the yard work.

 

This guy is my fucking hero! He’s like out of some movie or something! And then I had to make sure to not jump up and start applauding. Man, if I was able to come up with that stuff I’d be doing an end zone dance by now!

 

WYMANISM SPREADS

 

The Wyman Weekly is now being received in England, but we’re not going to have a European edition. A helpful tip for you folks across the pond: when we refer to a “flat” we’re talking about a case of canned beer and “football” is the kind with option offenses, safety blitzes, and Keith Jackson.