Yes. The stock in Food-Grade Silver Spraypaint for Impromptu Application would skyrocket. Shiny, Chrome and Delicious™.

Yes. You could probably extend Crockett's Theme into a 15-20 minute jam, Trans-Siberian style.

The problem with AV Club discussions is you need to have a short attention span and here I am going on about this tangent: SLC Punk seemed like the real deal for so long… like a legit semi-autobiographical vignette from this dude's life and where it succeeded on the reality front and captured the feel of its time…

I'll buy that. So original. If Sonic Youth reformed tomorrow I'd keep it in the back of my mind to look for tickets.

Oh SNAP. This person is either human encyclopedia or is sitting in a room flipping through old Spins and Rolling Stones. That is a f'ing REFERENCE right there. Take note. This is how it's done.

Is it OK to just go ahead and call Fugazi punk rock?

For the week ending January 31, you have won the internet.

Quoting SLC Punk is _so punk_.

As was Winter Park, which may explain why it always sucked. Though when it's reborn as SC Johnson and Co. PINE SOL™ Winter Park/ High Times Magazine™ Mary Jane/ Duracell™ Coppertop Mountain, it'll be much cooler I'm sure.

Hell of a title

Oh snap. Not going to Google to see if true, but I hope it is. Next week, Metro PCS. I'M BRETT MICHAELS: WHERE YOU AT, DAWG??!?

Oh, that last one, hahaha, so fitting. That one: hosted by Pete Twinkle and Greg Stink, they of The Ocho fame.

Props to Red Rocks and some other places for not succumbing to ridiculous corporate sponsorship (imagine Dick's Sporting Goods Presents Red Rocks Amphitheater at the Dakota Hogback), and I gotta say Florida will sell any venue's name for a few dollars.

You can't go home again.

What a badass lineup. On Quint-Guitar (it's a thing), we have Harry Dean Stanton in his Paris, Texas, costume, accompanied by Ben Folds-as-Garth-from-Wayne's-World on bass (or is it Old 97s guy??), and finally, on throat, Brett Michaels with yet another gimmick to cover whatever might have happened to his hair.

So gimmicky. Yet my eyes went straight for it.

I've found so much of Roger Ebert's brilliant work long after his death. What an icon.

So hard to display sincerity on the internet, since it's devoid of it typically, but this should suffice: it really was funny.

I saw David Duchovny in an airport lounge once, holding forth on various and sundry, but mostly Bill Brassky. It was exquisite.

Oh, snap, hahhah, why didn't I see this earlier?