THE WYMAN WEEKLY

(This Space Now for Sale)

Issue 8 March 28,1996

 

 

 

By the time you read this, I will have actually worked and got paid to do it. “Underemployed. Unattached. Unimpressed.” That could be the revised motto, but after seeing that new Mountain Dew commercial (more on this later) I figure I might as well make some righteous bucks, too. Hopefully, this issue won’t reflect my obvious dire state of mind because of this. And I also hope this issue isn’t as dark as the last one.

 

BEER/BARS

 

Now my buddies at the Miller Brewing Company have a beer that’s called “Miller.” How original. I thought Miller High Life was “Miller” but I was wrong. This is the same bunch of clowns who brought us Lite (the worst beer ever made) and Miller Clear, which was such a brilliant idea I don’t see how it failed. A few years back they offered us Miller Reserve (or something like that) which was supposed to be just like the beer Old Man Miller made way back after The War Between the States. Problem was, they also come with a Miller Reserve Light and I’m willing to bet that way back in the 1800’s they didn’t even have light beer. (Though they sure could of - it can’t be that tough to add water to your brew.) The Miller Brewing Company reminds me of Neil Young back in the eighties: he had that distortion album followed by the computer one then there was the rockabilly one then the country one then the Geffen lawsuit one then the Crazy Horse one and then the big band one and then the one with “Rockin’ in the Free World” on it...

 

I’ve spent much time the last week with beer and in bars and sometimes both at the same time. At some point in this time, I ended up drinking rum and wild cherry Diet Pepsis and calling friends up so that they could hear me slur. (Mental note: look and see if I can buy a breathalyzer to put next to my phone.) In fact, I think it was this type of behavior that somehow brought in that blizzard that raged at the end of last weekend. I got up Monday morning, shoveled the Mustang out of the snow plow’s hello, and parked it in the alley. As I shoveled, people drove by on their way to work and I could see them smirking at me. Ha - they were going to work and I took a nap that afternoon! I then went to my breakfast nook to eat bananas and bagels, drink milk, and listen to Natalie Merchant.

 

After registering with the temp agency last week (they tested me on “real” accounting and I got like 65% of the questions wrong but they didn’t seem to care because of my experience. Testing me on that amortization and depreciation stuff is like asking the guitarist in your local Chuck Berry bar band to play Beethoven’s Fifth) I then headed to the Skyway Lounge to toast the end of my unemployment. One dancer was nice enough to give me a kiss on the cheek. I figured this was a symbolic kiss good-bye to my glorious, heady days as a full time slacker. On the bright side, the temp agency said they wouldn’t give me anything “too demanding” so maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to keep my healthy mental state.

 

Got the word last week that at the end of April the Uptown Bar will stop having live music. Rest assured, on that last night I hope to be with them good ol’ boys drinkin’ whiskey and rye singing “this’ll be the day that I die.”

 

MUSIC

 

Saw Steve Earle (Best heroin comeback since Aerosmith) at First Avenue. I know I tend towards hyperbole, but this was the best show I’ve seen so far this year. I would recommend seeing him to anyone remotely interested in country, rock, or just plain brilliant songwriting. In a world without those confining musical barriers that our world has, Steve Earle would be considered a Major Artist. The upside is that in our world we get to see him in a smaller room like the Ave.

 

Yes, that’s John Lydon (Johnny Rotten) singing “Route 66” in a new Mountain Dew commercial. Damn straight I’ll drink that pop. I’ll drink anything endorsed by someone who once claimed to be an antichrist. The list of heroes (or antiheroes) who haven’t done commercials yet is getting rather small. One of these Friday nights I’ll be sitting here watching The X-Files and The Boss will be on some commercial crooning “Thunder Road” to a Ford Aerostar: “You ain’t a beauty, but hey you’re all right.” That’ll be followed by Van (The Man) Morrison wearing a Domino’s delivery uniform while he wails “DOMINO! DOMINO!” followed by a timeless Van the Man interjection like “Thirty minutes or less!” Let’s see, who else is going to send me crying home? Bobby Dylan singing “Like a Rolling Stone” for that piece of shit magazine; The Stones having “Wild Horses” play while the Clydesdales run in a Bud commercial (wait, that one happened already); and Paul Westerberg doing “Answering Machine” for US West.

 

WORK

 

Temporary work rules! I’ve only done six hours of it so far - but it rules! Worked at a small construction company in Northeast Minneapolis and thoroughly enjoyed it, underemployed and all. The person who I reported to was by far the babe of the year. (She leaves the previous BOTY from issue #4 in the dust.) Petite, about twenty-three, long blonde hair, blue eyes, great slacks and a white turtleneck. We were pretty much the only people in the office most of the time so she would talk to me every so often. She possessed an energetic, warm personality and even managed to remember my name. Fortunately, she worked in another room so I was able to get my work done. Aside from this cutie, this place had other plusses like free soda pop and the sports page was kept in the bathroom. The classic Wyman moment was the conversation when I left. (It was a one day assignment.)

 

Wyman: Let me know if you need any further help with your accounting.

 

Babe of the Year: Yeah, you should give me your number.

 

Wyman: Oh, you can just call the agency.

 

Babe of the Year: Okay, bye.

 

Wyman’s Brain: Doh!

 

LIFE IMITATES ART (AND BOB TOO)

 

Bob “The God of Rock ‘n’ Roll” Schultz and I joke around about all the press coverage that this rag is getting. In our ongoing fantasy, People has declared me a “heartthrob” but Rolling Stone ripped me. Well, a couple of weeks back in the real world City Pages stated that “the best kind of zines out there are not the sloppily photocopied ones about...some slob’s pathetic life...” I will admit that this is not the best zine out there (not by far) but wait a minute - these aren’t photocopied, all issues that go out are hot off of my laser printer. And although my life is pathetic (or is it? I read City Pages every Wednesday!) I don’t think I’m a “slob.” A female friend once said that I’m “well groomed” which I thought meant that I looked like a dog after a good brushing, but what she really meant was that I am not a slob. And she lives in Britain and would know as they’re so fucking superior.

 

MISCELLANY

 

If future issues seem to be a little late, that’s because I’m contemplating mailing these out on Saturday instead of Thursday. I’m sure you’ll manage okay.