Over The Edge

Happy Anniversary baby.
Got you on my….Mind.
Saw Over The Edge this weekend. First time in, like, twenty-eight years. I suppose I should let my wife watch it, but I don’t think she’d appreciate it as she was ONE when it was originally released. They aired it all the time on HBO back then, when meant it was permanently embedded into my brain for all of these years. Watching it alone made me feel like I was alone, age thirteen, watching the movie in my parents’ living room while they slept upstairs. It has a great soundtrack; the scene where they’re all going to this party and “You Really Got Me” is playing in the background as they go down to the basement is the reason why I bought Van Halen’s first record.
Actually, my Grandmother bought it for me at an electronics store in Bedford, Iowa and it was on cassette.

There’s a full accounting of the Mastodon show coming in Glorious Noise, but the overall consensus was that it was epic and completely amazing. The crowd was spotted with music geek types, most of whom stood agape as the band completely worked over a brutal two-hour set of Crack The Skye in its entirety and a transgressing set from the rest of their catalog. The Blood Mountain material was superb. I’m still a little pissed that they didn’t do “Blood & Thunder” but…what can you do.
Parking was a real pain thanks to an evening game between the Cubs and Great White, but we were advised to drive up an alley a few blocks from Wrigley Field and go see a guy named “Ziggy.”
Apparently, Ziggy has some parking space in the area and he plays guitar.
“We’re all doing a shit right when Mastodon goes on.” Advised the inked bartender at the Metro to her other co-workers. It was in preparation to get their head’s blown off from pure metal. Seriously, I stood right in front of the stage-right speakers and had to move after a few songs because it was making me queasy even with adequate ear protection.
There was a sign that advised how all stage diving and mosh pitting would not be allowed because of insurance reasons. Come to think of it, it’s been well over ten years since I’ve witnessed head-trauma inducing stage diving of any source. Thanks Progressive lady!
A dude in a wheelchair was selling bootleg t-shirts after the show for $10. They looked like they were made by a dude in a wheelchair with a red and black Sharpie.
A cute girl and her boyfriend were fighting in front of the Gingerman. He wanted to take her picture, supposedly to “document” her meltdown. She called him an “abuser.” A dude seeing that a weeping girl was somehow code for “Make a pass” asked with halfway concern if she was ok. She ignored him, and Mr. Concerned went home and beat-off.
After a mile jaunt, we found the car and went trippin’ on LSD.