Digital Cable has been something of a godsend to me. Although I've always watched a lot of television (with a gut as a reminder of my couch potato status), I never really watch anything specific. I am your classic channel surfer. While I wear my geekness as a badge of honor, I can honestly say I've never seen an entire episode of Buffy, Smallville, 24, or Alias. The mere idea of having to invest hour after hour in a show to follow a single storyline makes my head spin. Hell, I think I've only seen the X-Files about 4 or 5 times. Instead, I will flick around in an attempt to find a Seinfeld rerun, an American Chopper I haven't seen before, a decent movie, or anything that may be vaguely smutty.

So when my wife and I upgraded to digital cable, I found myself in a cathode ray heaven. Not only do I have 845 channels to flip through, but there is an onscreen guide that tells you what is showing on other channels… complete with a synopsis. Now, I no longer have to flip back and forth to see if the Seinfeld episode on TBS is better than the Simpsons episode I'm watching on Fox. Granted all this may seem a little sad, but I believe it's the small daily pleasures that gets one through life.

But what has really made digital cab fun is the inclusion of the FLIX network. FLIX, for those who don't know, is a movie-only Showtime subsidiary that is provided for free on most digital cable services. Quite honestly, I didn't know it existed for a long time. It's an easy channel to miss. FLIX is located in the high 100s of my channel spectrum—after the sea of Encore stations and before the blacked out high-definition channels (TV geek I may be, but I donít see myself paying for high-definition anytime soon). However, once I found it, FLIX has become my favorite channel.

"OK, nerd-boy, what makes it so great?" you are undoubtedly asking. The answer is quite simple: FLIX shows the movies no one else wants to air. It's a channel solely populated by the dust-covered videos you see on the bottom shelf at Blockbuster. Sure, occasionally a past hit like The Karate Kid might find its way into FLIX rotation, but for the most part, the network is devoted to such obscure-o "classics" like: The Garbage Pail Kids Movie, Foxy Brown, Slaughter, and Little Cigars—which, for the record, is a movie about a gang of midget mobsters.

That's right, a movie about about a gang of midget mobsters.

Let's face it, cable channels showing cinematic drek are a dime a dozen, but what makes FLIX so worthwhile is its consistency in showing weird, hard-to-find B-movies you rarely see anymore. Convoy, Caveman, White Line Fever, Meteor, and Chopping Mall have all been shown in the last month… movies I was sure were gone from history the minute the PRISM network left the Philly area in the '80s.

What has especially drawn me to the channel is its seeming appreciation for rock and roll cinema. In the past few weeks, FLIX has aired some great (and not-so great) rock flicks. For instance, during one restless night, I caught Hype, a woefully underseen documentary on the Seattle music explosion of the '90s. Then another day, I saw bits and pieces of a '50s flick called Teenage Millionaire with Chubby Checker; as fun as it was, by no means was the star a teenager. Bandwagon, a low-budget film about a band touring the Deep South, has been making the FLIX rounds as well; while the film's music is awful, the movie is surprisingly good. Of course, I can't forget the '60s tour-de-forces that have found their way on my TV. First there's, Maryjane, an anti-pot movie starring Fabian as a teacher so square he makes me look like Johnny Thunders who busts a teenage dope ring. Then, there was Psych-Out, a pro-pot movie featuring a young, but still balding, Jack Nicholson as a member of swinging acid-rock band. If the movie's glued-on Hippie sideburns don't make you laugh, then Susan Strassberg's performance as a deaf girl will.

But it's been one movie in particular that has made FLIX worthwhile…

One lazy Sunday afternoon, I managed to stumble across a FLIX broadcast of Riot On Sunset Strip, a movie that is something of a holy grail to rock and roll fans. Filmed in 1966 to exploit (and cash in) on the student riots in Hollywood, the movie features fantastic live performances by The Standells and The Chocolate Watchband. Moreover, the movie was never released on home video in the United States. It's one of these movies I had always heard about (especially from a friend who scored a decent bootleg from eBay), but never had the chance to see… and man, WHAT A MOVIE IT IS. Riot On Sunset Strip is simultaneously one of the worst and most enjoyable movies I've ever seen. The film opens with a voice over narration about the rising youth culture that would be better served in a horror movie. I swear, folks must have REALLY been scared of hippies, man. Rather than bore you with plot elements, I will share some things I learned about the '60s from this movie:

Acid makes you break out in choreographed modern dance.

It's perfectly normal for a veteran Hollywood detective to have a British accent.

60s chicks are hot. (Mini-skirts, beehives, go-go boots, and cat eyeliner… MEOW!)

It was cool for dudes to basically dress like Robin Hood.

Kids became hippies due to "broken homes."

Cops wore helmets in their police cruisers.

A TV reporter can be in a hospital one minute and on-air the next.

The Chocolate Watchband were a great band. (Seriously, their performance is the movie's highlight.)

And what's best… THERE IS NO RIOT IN THE MOVIE!!! The only thing that comes even remotely close is a fistfight in a coffee bar / nightclub. However, despite the film's laughable dialogue, silly plot, and nonexistent continuity and direction, I was glued to the screen for the full 80 minutes. Not since VH1 showed Ladies & Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains has my rock movie hunger been so satiated.

FLIX has truly become the home of the real, honest-to-goodness B-movie. Sure, HBO has their share of low-budget flicks, but these are generally straight-to-video affairs starring former heartthrobs like Rob Lowe or C. Thomas Howe. FLIX is the only place I know of that consistently mixes '70s grindhouse cinema, '80s obscurities, and pretty much any other celluloid that's been ignored.
—Rob Smentek