You forgot the clamp on the tongue, both of which are merely an insignificant prelude to the electrical goodness which is sure to follow.

I lived In Alexandria, VA for a few years and there were two high schools a few blocks from me. One was T.C. Williams, where Remember the Titans took place, and the other was Jim Morrison's old high school. These two factors did not manage to up my coolness quotient at all.

"Crom laughs at your Four Winds."

It's always been about Sam and Shelob for me.

I remember discovering Night of the Comet by accident on cable and fucking loving it. Has this aged well?

Tron still kicks ass. Lightcycles, recognizers, David Warner…

Other movies about Dan O'Herlighehy?

A science-fiction adventure starring Lance Guest! Sign me up.

Fabio With Goose is potentially a great band name.

This is important, right?

"Maybe…we don't…wanna stop fucking speedballs and freebasing hookers, ya big baloney!"

Pearl Jam needs to write about nine more to make up for "Jeremy".

AppleJill, I'll give you "Here Comes the Sun" and add a "Good Day Sunshine" and pretty much everything McCartney write except "Yesterday"…but "Sittin' on the Dock of the Day" is goddamn depressing. Not only was the song released posthumously after Redding was killed in a plane crash, but the final whistling verse was…

Lex, you're absolutley right. It's hilarious most assume that because of their name Black Sabbath is some kind of Satanic rock band, when in actuality their lyrics are the ramblings of religious peaceniks. Drunken, stoned Christian hippies, sure but nevertheless…

Negativity and sadness create great art, because they compel the artist to release all that madness in some kind of creative catharsis. Contentment and happiness doesn't drive the artist to do much besides maintain the status quo. There's no drive if you're already where you want to be. What would Yeats have written…

Seriously, I don't care. I just find it funny that you mock Reznor for being juvenile when the height of immaturity is thinking the art/expression you enjoy somehow makes you more evolved/mature/sophisticated/hip/interesting and a special unique little snowflake.

Dale, you speak endlessly about juvenile expression and outgrowing such puerile music, but then go on to not only absurdly stereotype the average NIN fan, but also state: "After I accumulated some life experience I realized there are thousands of creative expressions of negative emotions that affect me much more…

Just when you thought drowning completely sucked!

Dan, come on…we won the war. Cornwallis surrendered. It's over. Our language, our rules, our game.

"The Only Living Boy in New York" is so beautifully melancholy you just want to inject six times the lethal amount of morphine, hang yourself and then release your entrails with a katana…while plunging off of a bridge into a ocean of hungry sharks.