This blog is over the top

So I saw "Over The Hedge" on Saturday. Cute movie.

William Shatner voices Ozzie, the opossum, who overly-acts each time he dies. Shatner is perfect for that over the top performance.

And that, boys and girls, is the phrase of the day.

Can you say "Over The Top"?

I knew you could.

Okay. Enough Fred Rogers.

"Over The Hedge" was good. But honestly, I'm looking forward to "The Barnyard."

Yeah, I love me some kids movies. Luckily I have an 8-year-old daughter so I get to see them all without looking like "that guy."

Because going to see a kid's movie, at my age, without a kid, is scary.

But enough about movies.

Let's talk about two of my favorite things:


And music.

(Or is that three of my favorite things?)

Anyway ... at Thursday's Swig Tooth show there was this woman, who, like all those like her, shall from this point forward be referred to simply as "Friends of Chris Skrobot" who was hanging six ways out of her outfit.

On purpose.

That was over the top.

But she got topped, one-upmanship style (or could I use the phrase "double breasted style") by another concert attendee I saw.

There was this girl at the Red Wanting Blue show heretofore referred to at Boob Girl and she was, in many respects, over the top.

But before I get to her, there were a couple of other interesting characters you always see at shows (well, maybe I always see, because I look for them).

First was the token black guy there to check out white women.

How do I know he wasn't a fan? He never looked at the stage ... and his eyes never went above waist level as he walked through the crowd.

Second was the token old guy trying to pick up young chicks.Rocking out. And dancing. And he was probably closer to 50 than 40, yet there he was, out on the floor. In the crowd. With the college kids.

Who were drinking Mickey's Big Mouth?

Um, maybe it's me, but didn't that stop being cool after 8th grade when you started to develop a taste for beer and realized that Little Kings and Mickey's are more-than-likely the waste products of other breweries that spilled out over the top of the mixing vats, was squeegied up, tossed in a bottle and sold to you?

That's what I thought.

But back to Old Guy. Rocking out.

With a glass of wine.

Because nothing says "I'm a hip old guy into the college music scene" like gray hair, orthopedic shoes and Burgundy.

Now back to Boob Girl.

There's a great Canadian band called The Beautiful South (yes, capitalized article required) that has a song called 36D.

The chorus:

"36D, so what. So what.
Is that all that you got?"

That describes Boob Girl.

Boob Girl was front and center at the Red Wanting Blue show at Jillian's in Akron. She started off at the table beside us, where our eyes ... that's mine, and the two women I was with, Kerry and her friend Kelly ... were all looking at the exposed breast flesh.

Like a car wreck.

We didn't want to. But we couldn't look away. They were crying out for that much attention. And every movement was like a rock tossed into still waters - the ripples just kept going.

And like The Beautiful South song ... that was all she had. As Kelly said, "the rest of the package isn't there."

But what I can't describe in words is the fact that her boobs had movement Jello can only dream about.

But lemme tell you what else about her was over the top:

Boob Girl was initially beside us. Then during the performance of Cactus 12, a decent band from Cleveland, she moved closer to the front. And when Red Wanting Blue started, she was jiggling front and center.

And smoking.

No, not smoking hot. Smoking. Because unlike Columbus, Akron doesn't have an indoor smoking ban.

And she was blowing her smoke up right up at Red Wanting Blue's frontman, Scott Terry. (See Kerry, it's another Terry. I'm lucky that Michelle isn't a last name, eh?)

And Scott Terry has his own kind of over the top, which I'll discuss later.

But back to Boob Girl. For two reasons. No, not those two reasons.

First, the smoke she was blowing in Scott's face. Not maliciously, but let's face it she was front and center. She really had no where else to blow it.

And second ... The three of us were wondering what Boob Girl had under her breasts to give them the immense lift and over-the-top-of-her-shirt jiggly spillage. It wasn't a push-up bra, because she was wearing a spaghetti-strap like blouse. Yet she was able to keep them constrained, and the nipples covered.

We're not sure how, based on her dancing, bouncing and the general lack of coverage her outfit provided, and the massive amount of breastflesh exposed.. We're not sure if she had books underneath them, a section of 2x2, or a couple of small children or midgets.

But before I get all carried away with boobs, and let's face it, I could spend all day looking at, licking on, or talking about breasts ... lets get back to Boob Girl's other issue:

Blowing smoke.

Singers, even those like Scott Terry who smoke, love when you blow smoke at them. (And in case you're wondering, the verb in that sentence, love, is used in a highly sarcastic manner.)

Really. (And that applies to both statements in that paragraph).

See, the smoke reflects the stage lights and gives the show that hazy look that everyone loves.

Not to mention the flavor of your cigarette enhancing the air they're breathing, rapidly, between lyrics. When they need to get all the oxygen they can to sing the next lyric. Especially when it's over the top. Like Scott Terry, but more on that later.

Breathing your second-hand smoke does wonders for the voice you love.


So if you "love a band" and want to get "front and center" to show your love ... do two things:

1. Don't blow smoke at them.

2. Keep your shit off their stage.

Trust me on this one, too.

That "box" you set your beer next to could be a collection of fancy gadgets the guitar player spent his rent and food money on because he's a struggling musician. It's electronic equipment. Would you like it if he came to your house and put a beer next to your DVD player? Or computer? Or digital camera? No.

So why do you put yours on the stage. Because there's nothing as safe as putting liquid in an environment with a lot of bass, thumping drums and constant movement of people, instruments, and cords. And next to a box that a guy's operating with his feet. In a fast manner.

So show some decency and respect the bands you go to see. Keep your shit away from their professional equipment, and don't blow smoke in their faces.

Okay, rant off.

Now we're on to our final over-the-top, which will I'm sure will get me a big "Stop it" from Kerry:

Scott Terry, Red Wanting Blues' singer.

Great to listen to even though it reminds me a lot of this band I love called Rhythm Corps. Who put out one album. In 1989. Scott is great to listen to. But difficult to watch.

William Shatner gets constant grief for his over-the-top acting in Star Trek. And to call back to the beginning of this piece, fourteen pages and three hours ago, Shater is Ozzie, the Opossum, in "Over The Hedge."

Scott Terry must be a huge Shatner fan. The looks on his face make you think he sings every song as if his life depends on his facial expressions. In a music video, that's cool. For about four or five minutes.

And I love me the raw emotion of music. And musicians. And I feel it. In my heart.

But seeing the same pained expression every song ...

And the same run-my-fingers-angstly-through-my-hair-to-emphasize in every song ...

For two hours?

That's over the top.

No comments: