Let's compromise here, people. We'll watch Jennifer Lawrence play Seven Minutes In Heaven with Mrs. Langdon Alger for half the movie. Fair?

Are you cool, man?

I would gladly visit a theater that sold ramen and terrible fast food. Definitely a step up from your average movie concessions.

"So I tied an onion to my belt, as was the style at the time."

No, but Anderson is handing out sweatervests and '80s portable record players out front of that one.

This guy's grammar checks out - he's American all right.

Good… god… man!

This is true of all genres of music, pretty much. The economic model of regular radio seems to have foreclosed playing everything but the biggest pop hits. Luckily, the internet is doing a fine job of making radio obsolete anyway.

You're a big Jackyl fan too, eh?

"It's a MYTH! MYTH!"

Yeah, I'd say it's pretty true to character that he'd spend an inordinate amount of time grooming his mustache.

If they remind you of Phish, you weren't paying much attention to Phish.

It's simple. Basically, there's three grabbers, three taggers, five twig runners, and a player at Whackbat. Center tagger lights a pine cone and chucks it over the basket and the whack-batter tries to hit the cedar stick off the cross rock. Then the twig runners dash back and forth until the pine cone burns out and…

But where are all the acrobatic guitar pyrotechnics? This doesn't sound anything like "Cliffs of Dover."

I enjoy visiting the Darth Mall when I'm looking for evil chain stores.

The full beard does lessen his douchebag factor by, oh, 10% or so. But his hipster quotient is correspondingly increased, so in the end it's a wash.

He's trying to do exactly what his lawyer instructed him to do - avoid giving a clear answer, without actually refusing to answer the question. As uncomfortable as that is in real life (or in the dramatized version), all that matters is what's on paper in the transcript, since that's what gets introduced at trial and…

Another instance of your name and your comment lining up pretty much perfectly.

My disgust for their meat slurry is pure. Not even remotely attracted to their food, even while drunk. Now, a cheap slice of pizza or a gyro from a cart at 2am, that I can get behind.

Even seeing the title of that Crash Test Dummies song in print makes me want to punch someone. My freshman year roommate in college "discovered" CTD at a club show in early 1994, before the song broke, and would not stop playing that album. I retaliated by alternating Tool and Phish cds, which I'm sure was confusing…