I was annoyed reading Alex Pappademas’ Grantland piece on Treme, mostly because I was anticipating five years from now, when Grantland Editor-in-Chief Bill Simmons will lecture all of us about how great the show was. Simmons hasn’t written about Treme, but admitted on his podcast that he dismissed it after a few failed attempts at watching. I guess it bothers me when a pop culture tastemaker with such incredible reach ignores a show as good as Treme, a gift from a mind whose work has given us the best the medium has to offer. It’s probably unfair to be so irritated by Simmons glib reaction to Treme. In fact, I’m sure it is. But here I am anyway.

Alex Pappademas is a good pop culture writer, his piece on MTV’s Teen Wolf is fucking awesome, and he had the decency to at least watch and think about Treme before deciding it was no good. I read his piece as I was in the midst of a Treme binge, catching up on season 2 in a six episode burst that moved me to tears on more than one occasion. A lot of his problems with Treme reflect exactly what I love about it, the very same qualities that make it one of the five or six best things currently on TV and a worthy successor to the single greatest show in television history.

The Expectations

Pappademas claims that “…[Treme] wasn’t The Wire: Port of Call New Orleans, which for a lot of viewers was a dealbreaker.”

Has an audience ever tempered its expectations more than they did for the new David Simon project? For months leading up to the Treme premiere, we were told: “It’s different. It’s not like The Wire. Really. I’m telling you. It’s a very different show. You can’t expect The Wire. I’m not joking. Seriously. It’s not The Wire.”

We were ready. I can’t imagine anyone stopped watching because it wasn’t about cops and drug dealers. Almost everyone who tuned in knew it wouldn’t be. Yet, I agree it would be possible for Treme to have been crushed under the weight of its own expectations. Not because of subject matter, but because of sheer quality. How could anything measure up to what is frequently and sincerely called the greatest show ever? The fact it will be entering its third season next year is a bit of a miracle unto itself. The reason it has been a (qualified) success is that is does compare nicely with The Wire – not in its plot, but in the effortless way it juggles its huge ensemble, its incredible ambition, its passionate moral outrage, its performances, its attention to detail, its understanding of the human condition, its respectful treatment of local culture.

It’s true that these qualities are all in service of a character study and not a densely plotted crime drama, but Nashville and Short Cuts didn’t have a plot either. Nor did Before Sunrise or Dazed and Confused. If you told me I got to spend an hour a week with those characters, I’d do it.

Pappademas writes:

“Treme behaves as if genre is a crutch, as if using twists and reveals and stakes-ratcheting cliffhangers to keep people interested would somehow cheapen what the show has to say about the resilience of the human spirit and the fierce, ornery native culture of New Orleans.”

Well, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t genre be a crutch for a show like this? The world of The Wire, with its stories of crime and violence, naturally had those elements that would keep people guessing, but it was hardly a genre cop show. In fact, for at least two of its five seasons, the cops were on the periphery of the action. It defied nearly ever genre rule imaginable with its characters that existed in shades of grey, its willingness to delve into the muddled waters of local politics, and its commitment to the realism of good intentions gone awry.

In Treme, wouldn’t it feel forced to apply a genre? What genre should be applied? The musical? I would argue that Treme comes in the tradition of not only the films I mentioned before, but of Magnolia, Slacker, American Graffiti – the subgenre of “ensemble humanist dramedy.” It shouldn’t be lost that every episode has its fair share of subtle chuckles and at least a couple out loud moments. None of the reviews ever seem to mention that it actually has a sense of humor. As far as cliffhangers, I don’t know, but whether or not these characters can rebuild their home, get their album out, find love, recover from tragedy, make it in New York City, start a band, reconnect with their father, find safety, maintain a business, have artistic integrity, raise their children right, save a marriage, find peace with their job, take advantage of a broken political system, get along with their family, accomplish their dreams — what can I say? I’m fucking riveted.

The Music

Pappademas again:

“The music is controversial. I know at least one person who jukes the show’s pace by fast-forwarding all the songs, a bit of utilitarian sacrilege which cuts every episode down to a comparatively brisk 45 minutes or so.”

Sacrilege indeed! My recommendation is to stop knowing this person. This is not the kind of person you want to know. Look, it’s within everyone’s right to like or not like a show, and if the music bothers you that much, I understand, just change the channel. The music and the characters are so intertwined, I can’t imagine what value one would get from watching Treme by fast forwarding through the musical performances. That would be like saying, “Yeah, I watch Breaking Bad, but I fast forward though all the meth cooking scenes because they make me feel icky.” These scenes are emotional touchstones that move the story forward, establish mood, convey meaning, hint at motivations, and expose the core of the characters’ love for their city. The music scenes are the soul of the show. To not see this is to miss the point entirely.

He goes on:

“…in order to actually like these scenes, you have to like New Orleans music as much as Simon et al clearly do, even when it’s played by bands that sound like the Commitments.”

First of all, at the risk of losing all credibility, I like the fucking Commitments, okay? That movie makes a nice punching bag for writers who like to shit on people who have the nerve to love something so much that they can’t help but go out and do something about it, but if that movie doesn’t make you smile at least a little bit, then I don’t know what to do for you. The Commitments and Treme are both about people with genuine passion. I dig that.

Secondly, New Orleans Jazz is not my preferred musical genre. I don’t listen to it around the house, but I’ll be damned if the music scenes in Treme don’t get my feet tapping. Before I started watching, I didn’t know Kermit the trumpet player from Kermit the Frog; I didn’t know who John Boutte was, and sure as shit didn’t know he could sing like Sam Cooke. I still don’t know most of the musicians who the characters and the camera angles make a big whoop about every week. So I clearly don’t love the music as much as David Simon and company, but the show has gone a long way in helping me appreciate it. I don’t think you need to be a fan of jazz to like the music scenes, I just think you just need to be open minded enough to give it a chance. There’s something so primal and necessary and historic about this genre that makes it just about as close to empirically good as music can get. But there’s no accounting for taste, I guess.

The Passion

Pappademas spends much of the second half of his piece taking the writers to task for the way they write the musicians’ dialogue, pointing out several lines that admittedly sound silly on the page, but are not that jarring when you’re watching. Pappademas admits that it’s hard to talk and write about music, but still refuses to give them a pass for certain lines. I would argue that this is a show about people who are so punch-drunk in love with something, so passionate, so committed, that, yes, sometimes they sound silly when talking about that thing they love. Sometimes words fail your emotions and you overreach. That applies to both the characters in Treme and the people who write it. Haven’t you ever loved something that much? Can’t you relate?

Pappademas does give props to the Davis McAlary (Steve Zahn) storyline because he saw it as “a smart, sharp satire of white-hipster-dork carpetbagging.” He enjoyed seeing Davis fail in his attempt to start a political hip-hop jazz fusion act and read this failure as the writers taking the character to task for not being authentic enough, for being more narcissistic than politically conscious.

Pappademas finishes his piece with this:

“Davis’ comeuppance was a more realistic portrayal of how music works in life than anything else we’ve seen on this music-obsessed show thus far. Because, sure, sometimes musicians really are sages and culture martyrs and revolutionaries and self-sacrificing keepers of historically important flames — but sometimes they’re oblivious soul-patched narcissists who can’t quite manage to make art as good as their intentions. A flawed vessel like this show should sympathize.”

But it does sympathize! Which is exactly why he’s wrong in his interpretation of the Davis storyline. Sure, the show pokes fun at Davis’ exuberance, but it does not loathe him. It does not see him as a pure narcissist (just part narcissist). Davis is David Simon and company. He is their avatar — white, privileged, outsider, wannabe musician. Davis is their admission that they are all those things, but he is also their plea that they are fucking trying – that they love this shit. That even though they are not from here, that maybe they don’t always get it, that maybe they sometimes sound silly, they have no choice but to scream from the mountaintops about their love for this city and this music.

The final scene of the season says it all. After Davis quits the band and realizes his efforts have been for nothing, he returns to the radio station where he used to DJ and spins one last record. As “Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams” by Louie Armstrong plays, we get a montage of all the characters. In his flawed way, Davis feels these characters through the song. He feels New Orleans as David Simon feels New Orleans. When the song ends, Davis, a little misty, leans into the microphone, “Sorry for the dead air…. But that one got me.”

He apologizes. The last line of the season is Davis apologizing, but also stating that he just can’t help it. He can’t help himself from getting emotional, from expressing himself, from doing all he can do to be part of this community. Davis, like Simon, can’t be a successful musician. So instead, he has to do this. He has to play the music like this. That last moment is Simon admitting that the show is indeed a flawed vessel, but it is one that sympathizes. It’s one that tries like no other show on TV, and that counts for a lot more than Pappademas gives it credit.

After all, as Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights taught us, “That’s what character is. It’s in the trying.”

Sometimes there’s just not enough hours in the day to sit down and write. I love doing it, but it’s hard fucking work. So in order to keep active with reviewing every inch of universal minutia, I’m pleased to announce the Rate the Universe Podcast, in which my good friend Matt and I do what I do on the blog, only we do it with our mouths and tongues (sexy!) because it requires less effort on both our end and yours. I’ll still be writing the blog, but as you know, time restraints often make posts few and far between.

We’re going to try our damnedest to churn out new episodes every Monday, and I hope you’ll tune in every week by subscribing in iTunes or visiting the direct stream. If you’ve enjoyed the blog at all and you’re still reading this, I honestly think you’ll enjoy the podcast — wouldn’t waste your time otherwise.

In the debut episode of the Rate the Universe Podcast, we review Roger Ebert, masturbating to someone you know, and admitting you like girly things. Also, we debut our regular segment called “Blank, this is Blank.”

You can find it all right here: www.ratetheuniversepodcast.com

And actually, you don’t even have to listen to it. Just click the link a bunch of times to make me think there are legions of listeners out there who will validate my need for an audience. It will make me feel good about myself. But if you DO listen, I hope you’ll come back for more.

Some people tried to make me feel shame for not having the guile to get out of performing my civic duty. I heard tales of what they thought were displays of great cunning and quick witted deception, but to me just sounded like the kind of lies that are exhausting to tell. It seemed so much easier to just show up, check out the show, and enjoy a day away from work. Every story I’d ever heard about jury duty involved a day of sitting, reading, and being dismissed in time to make it home for Jeopardy. Didn’t sound so bad.

Chicago’s Daley Center, home of the Circuit Court of Cook County, is a strikingly bland building on the inside – and if it wasn’t for Picasso and the fact that the Blues Brothers once drove their car through the lobby windows, the outside would be pretty unremarkable too. The place is a blank slate. The inside halls have no character or attitude or point of view, which I suppose is appropriate for a place that is supposed to trade in the distribution of unbiased justice. It made me think that doctors’ and dentists’ offices should be like this too – no false motivational artwork pressuring you to feel optimistic – just the purity of tabula rasa and the freedom to feel however the fuck you want about your disease or your lawsuit or your root canal or your bad luck getting called for jury duty. The Picasso in the plaza is more than enough artwork for your entire court experience. It says everything it needs to about the strange beast you are up against when conducting business in an institution such as this. That thing should be outside of public schools too.

I knew very little about how my day would go. The instructions in my notice were brief and simple: Report to room 1642 at 9am. Bring something to read. Have change for the vending machine. Wait for your panel number to be called. I was to be paid approximately 17 dollars.

Before I could set out in search for room 1642, I had to stand in line at the metal detector, which I hate, because I’m never quite sure on the protocol. Obviously, I had to take off my watch, throw my cell phone, wallet and change into the little bucket, but what about my coat? Surely there could be some metal on this thing. Do the pockets have zippers or metal buttons? I dunno. And speaking of zippers, my pants have one. My belt has some metal on it. Did I have to take off my belt? Surely not. No one else is taking off their belt. Hell, my pants have a metal button on them. Just how serious is this anyway? Did I have to take off my shoes like at the airport?

As I’m worrying about the metal detector, I noticed there was a “velvet rope” section for lawyers and judges, who get to bypass the metal detector and go straight to the elevators. This seemed imprudent to me. Are not lawyers and judges capable of losing their minds or being terrorists or causing mayhem with metal devices? Give them their own metal detector, sure, for the sake of streamlining their day. But no metal detector? It just reeks of classism.

Room 1642 was a large waiting area with three different types of seats. First, plastic chairs situated against five long tables, presumably for the workaholics who need a surface on which to get shit done today, lest they lose their fucking minds. Second, one large bank of attached brown cushioned chairs, which may seem like the best choice upon first glance, but the rows are long and narrow, and if it gets crowded, claustrophobia and panic could easily set in. And third, plastic chairs surrounding the outside of the cramped brown cushioned chairs, which will force you to stare into the eyes of the occupants of the brown cushion chairs, where you will undoubtedly see the moment despair and anxiety consumes their souls.

I chose a seat with the workaholics, not because I am one, but because a surface seemed nice. As people began to shuffle in, you could tell their moods were more resigned than annoyed, more curious than angry. As the room filled, a woman spoke with an unfamiliar accent and a hilarious cadence into a microphone that was turned up way too high. She told us to watch the informational video that would be shown on the three 19-inch televisions hanging from the ceiling, and then to wait patiently for our panel number to be called.

The informational video was, of course, at least fifteen years old, starring local news anchor Lester Holt, who, with his booming broadcaster voice and undeniable good looks, had long since moved on to the national stage, but at this point in his career was sporting a Chicago mustache and a terrible 1994 hair cut.

Lester took about 10 minutes to explain how we would be going into a courtroom for the selection process, and how important our civic duty was to the very foundation of the greatest justice system in the world. We, the normals, the non-bar passing goonies, would hold the fates in our calloused, working class hands (Of course, this wasn’t exactly what he said, and anyone of any socioeconomic background can be called to jury duty – even lawyers and judges. But in the waiting room it didn’t feel like that. It felt like us vs. them. It felt like the DMV, but with guys in suits telling you what to do instead of people in moo-moos. The metal detector/velvet rope thing certainly didn’t help either).

As Lester dramatically emphasized the necessity and dignity of our role as the guardians of the most righteous, expertly crafted judicial system Western civilization has ever known, I looked over to a woman in her forties pouring a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos into her mouth at 9:15 am.

The woman with the hilariously odd accent called my panel number immediately after Lester Holt wrapped it up, and Bill the Bailiff (real name) herded about 35 of us into the courtroom of Judge McMustache (not a real name). Bill the Bailiff looked a lot like Bill Murray and acted like a character he might play in an Alexander Payne film in which a goofy Midwestern bailiff with a forced sense of humor falls clumsily in love with a damaged female juror who is charmingly and accessibly out of his league. At first, Bill’s forced jokes and deep, Bears and sausage Chicago accent made me think that he was not the kind of person I would like in my normal life. And it’s true, perhaps in my normal life I wouldn’t, but by the end of my jury duty experience, he would be one of a few people I would have to restrain myself from hugging as we said our final goodbyes.

We walked into the courtroom and I was surprised to see the plaintiffs and defendant already positioned with their lawyers behind two large tables. You could feel their glare on us. They looked at us like a chef might gaze upon a slab of meat they’re contemplating serving to a restaurant critic. I was surprised by just how lawyery the lawyers looked. If you saw them on TV, you’d say the casting director did a shitty job for being too obvious with their choices.

The two plaintiffs were a tanned, thin, tall man in his early forties, and his direct opposite  – a  round, short, blond, extremely white woman of approximately the same age. It was difficult to tell their relationship, as they did not touch or speak. The defendant looked like he could be the woman’s brother (he wasn’t). Short, bald, slumped shoulders, defeated – he looked like the worst possible outcome for George Costanza in his fifties.

Bill the Bailiff told us that the judge would be coming out shortly and to just sit tight. The lawyers eventually got called back into the judge’s chambers, while we potential jurors sat in perfect awkward silence in the company of the plaintiffs and defendant. The trial’s key players cast their sad eyes downward and did not speak or move for a solid half hour, which was how long it took for the judge to emerge and begin the selection process.

Here’s the thing about jury selection: it’s fucking weird. Much weirder than I anticipated. The first thing that disconcerted me was the math. I was in this room with approximately 35 other people. They would pick twelve of us. That meant I had a one in three chance of ending up on the jury, which was not the kind of odds I was expecting. It was one thing to miss a single day of work, it was quite another to be out for a week or weeks or christknowshowlong. I began to panic a little. This was already further than I thought I’d go, and it was barely 10 am. I didn’t count on seeing the inside of a courtroom, with all of its “hey-I-know-about this-from-TV” moments, like when everybody stands for the judge’s entrance, or when the court reporter starts pecking away after every utterance, or when the potential jurors get sworn in to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

No, I didn’t think I’d see any of that. I thought I’d read my book in the waiting room, eat a bag of Cheetos from the vending machine (at an appropriate time, of course), and be dismissed sometime after lunch. “Sorry – we have all the jurors we need. See ya next time!” But no, there I was, seeing real courtroom shit, about to be asked questions about my life in front of a room full of strangers.

And that was the part I wasn’t expecting. During the selection process, they called us up in groups of twelve, sitting us in the jury box and asking us questions that would reveal our aptitude for being on the jury for this particular case. These questions were mostly benign, but had the potential to be embarrassing if your past included any lawsuits, or because of the nature of this specific trial, any car accidents or recent deaths in the family.

I felt for the people who had to tell these stories in front of a room full of perfect strangers – divorce, car accidents, childhood injuries, cancer. I began to breathe easier knowing that I would not have to reveal any sensitive information about myself. I counted myself lucky that my answers to all the judge’s questions about lawsuits and tragedies would honestly be “No…no…no…no…no…”

…That is until I realized with every “No,” I most likely became a better candidate to serve on the fucking jury. I began paying even more attention to my fellow candidates’ answers, ticking off the ones who were likely to get cut immediately.

“Have you ever been involved with any kind of lawsuit, civil or criminal, at any point in your past?” Judge McMustache asked a twenty-three year old baby faced kid in a mechanic’s shirt.

“Yes.” said the baby faced mechanic.

“Can you describe the nature of the suit?”

“When I was in first grade, my mom sued our landlord because I was eating paint chips from the windowsill, and they had lead in ‘em.”

“And what was the result of that suit, or is it ongoing?” McMustache asked.

“Ongoing.”

Great. I guess he’s out. Another candidate couldn’t even get through his round of questions because he couldn’t speak English. Yet another got visibly choked up when talking about her dead father. And this was only the second round of twelve! I would be included in the third round, which would have to wait until after lunch.

“We will take 90 minutes for lunch,” Judge McMustache proclaimed. “Please return to the courtroom at 1:30.”

90 minutes? That’s an hour an a half, right? Jesus. Christ.

Over my hour and a half lunch, I thought about making something up to get kicked off the jury – a phantom car accident or a second cousin who got run over by a bus – anything to make sure I wouldn’t have to come back tomorrow. Would they do a background check? Could I be charged with perjury if caught in a lie? What would the mustachioed Lester Holt from 1994 think of me? After my lunch, I still had an hour and ten minutes to kill – these were questions that could only be aided by beer.

I answered honestly when questioned by the judge. Not because I was taking any moral high ground; it just seemed like easier of the two choices. After the final round of questioning, the judge and the lawyers retired to his honor’s chambers, and we were told they would return with the final juror selections. By my estimation, at least ten of the candidates would be eliminated immediately, leaving me about a 50/50 shot at making the cut. Despite the even odds, I resigned myself to the fact I would be selected. Let’s face it: I’m a perfect juror – attentive, analytical, and resoundingly handsome.

So I wasn’t surprised when Judge McMustache read my name as the seventh juror, but I did feel a certain dread. We twelve chosen ones shuffled into the comically small jury room, awaiting instructions for tomorrow’s opening statements. I looked to the faces and dispositions and words of my fellow jurors for comfort. Remarkably, I found it, which is kind of amazing, because the thin and fleeting connection I experienced with those strangers was one of the more quietly nice things that happened to me over the past few years.

The thing about jury duty is that you spend more time waiting in the jury room than you do in “the box” hearing the facts of the case. Way more time. This means sitting around a table with people you’ve never met. At first, I figured this would be a week of burying my nose in a book and catching up with music I’d been meaning to hear. Instead, I found myself unable to ignore the eleven other people in the room. They were too fascinating.

People aren’t usually my thing, and I hate small talk. But the amazing thing about jury duty is that small talk becomes big talk very quickly – perhaps unnaturally quickly. When you go through this kind of new, awkward, pressure-filled situation, you bond with the people who share the experience with you – it’s like boot camp, or being on the The Real World. No one can quite understand being plucked out of their life and given some kind of bizarre responsibility, other than the people who actually go through it with you.

What I found out in that jury room was how much I enjoy the company of rational people, and how painful and terrifying it is to be around those who are not. Because despite all our differences: race, age, gender, levels of education, religious beliefs, and income levels – we all shared a reasonable nature. Perhaps that’s why we were picked in the first place. One by one, I began to appreciate them.

Bill the Bailiff, for example, at first seemed a clown with a weird job and bad jokes, but quickly turned into someone providing much needed comfort and comic relief. I was astounded by how good he was at this strange job – a shepherd of jurors, the bringer of bad chef’s salads for lunch – and I admired him. I admired the quiet dignity of his position. He was protector of the court, the person who carried all the information about when we would be set free. He was the keymaster, and he delivered all the good news and bad news with confidence and grace. When he told the group, “Uncle Billy will get you through this,” I fucking believed him. And he delivered. How often does that happen?

Another juror, we’ll call her Amanda, was a recent college graduate from Olivet Nazarene, a strict bible college in Bourbonais. I knew people like Amanda, particularly when I was in high school, and I knew Olivet. Basically, going to Olivet is like living in the movie Footloose, only worse, because Kevin Bacon would have been kicked out of school in the first act. They literally are not allowed to dance, have obscene curfews, and are strictly limited in their interactions with the opposite sex. Amanda told us stories of kids getting kicked out of school for simply being seen in the same Facebook picture as someone having a drink or a cigarette.

As Amanda told stories of her bible college days, you could see the face of someone in the midst of waking up. It wasn’t that she had completely disowned the school – in fact, at times she defended it – but what I saw was the beginnings of a reasonable person who had only just left an unreasonable situation. She was not prepared for the reaction of some of the other jurors when she talked about the school. They were astonished by her experience and the extent to which young adults would turn their lives over to such a strict regime. Amanda was sheltered and insulated, but now out in the world, she was starting to realize just how abnormal her college experience was. I could see a certain pain in her eyes – of time wasted and being the recipient of lies. I could see her confusion and resentment when being laughed at by reasonable people, but also her complete understanding of why they would be laughing in the first place, because she was also a reasonable person, and it made me like her more than I’m usually capable of liking people who went to bible college.

There was “Neil,” a wealthy commodities trader who came from education and money, and who liked to tell stories about his travels and privilege. He was the kind of person you would expect to hate, but the more he talked, the more I realized that he wasn’t trying to boast, he was genuinely trying to share things about himself to make connections with the other people in the room. He spoke to get conversations started, and would listen intently when it was his turn to do so. He quickly earned everyone’s respect and became our de facto leader. By the end the week, I did not resent the wit or intelligence he came by through family ties, but I respected and admired him, because he wielded his gifts with the restraint and dignity of a reasonable person.

From the soccer mom to the know-it-all, seasoned juror (18 trials in total), my fellow jurors broke out of their mold and became real people – something I still can’t see from other folks I’ve known much longer – and it was all because of their ability to remain civil and reasonable through a series of awkward circumstances. It was invigorating and life-affirming, two words I don’t throw around very often.

As for the case itself, I feel weirdly disconnected from it. The personal dynamics of the jury room – the small talk, the personalities, the navigation through awkward silences – those all made a certain degree of sense to me. The dynamics of such intense tragedy, however, are almost too much to comprehend. I won’t tell the whole story, because it’s not my story to tell, but it involved a car accident and the loss of a two-year-old’s life. It involved a small family business and generations of hard work.

The genius of the jury system is that despite the difficult decision we had to make, we were able to make it with eleven other people. It was a decision from the collective conscious, and I think that allows all twelve of us to sleep soundly at night.

At the end of the trial, I felt a tinge of sadness. I felt comfortable in that world of reasonable people, and as fucked up as the judicial system undoubtedly is, the small glimpse I enjoyed made a great deal of sense to me – at least my small role within it did. I quietly dreaded returning to my regular life and job, which seemed messy and unreasonable in relation to the logic of the courtroom.

As I left the jury room for the last time, I wanted to hug each and every person in it. I wanted to exchange numbers and email addresses. But I didn’t. No one did. We all understood our role in what had just happened and its uniqueness to the four walls that surrounded us. We were reasonable enough to know that should we exchange personal information, it would almost certainly never be used.

I want you to notice when I’m not around.

You’re so fucking special.

I wish I was special.

But I’m a creep.

- Radiohead, Creep

In October, the David Fincher directed, Aaron Sorkin written The Social Network will be released, which tells the story of the group of Harvard shitheads who invented Facebook. I’m sure it will be good, because David Fincher doesn’t make bad movies. I don’t really know much about Mark Zuckerberg, or even if he and his friends were indeed shitheads, but at the moment, he’s the world’s youngest billionaire (lawsuit pending), and as well he should be — he helped invent the closest thing to an actual time machine the world has ever seen.

The popularity of Facebook is mostly unextraordinary. By now, we all know its strengths (keeping up with the family, checking in to see how ugly/fat your formerly attractive classmates are) and its weaknesses (endless baby pictures, stories of the mundane, having former classmates see how ugly/fat you now are). Facebook can help you promote your business or your blog; it can, of course, help you reconnect with old friends. But I believe its massive popularity is due to its ability to hit into a deeper, psychological desire that we all have: to go back in time.

And I’m not just talking about simply reconnecting with old friends; I’m talking about  traveling through time and space to a moment in your past and trying to alter the course of your future. Because Farmville and Mafia Wars and “Liking” an interesting article or video your coworker posted are all just side dishes to the truth of why Facebook is so successful. We are five hundred million Marty McFlys all looking for that past relationship that will lead to a future that is better than what we have now. The future we were supposed to have.

In most people’s lives, there is this feeling that something went wrong. It doesn’t have to be as monumental as choosing the wrong partner or career path. It can be something as simple as ending a friendship too soon or failing to strengthen one at the right time. It’s not just about infidelity and hooking up, although that’s part of it too — The Philadelphia Inquirer recently reported that Facebook is mentioned in one out of five divorce filings — but certainly there are people in relatively happy relationships that feel the need to do a little time traveling too.

The kind of time travel involved is actually closer to what Desmond Hume did on Lost than it is to Doc Brown’s Delorian. In Lost, Desmond’s mind travels to the past. His body stays in the future, but his consciousness is able to go back to various points in his history. You may have heard the term, “creeping on Facebook,” and that’s exactly what this is. Being a creep: eyes locked on the screen as you browse through layers of friends and friends’ friends, time falls away, your consciousness drifts to your former selves, and when you witness that web of lost connections, the past becomes clearer than it has ever been. How did I become this person I am now? How can I make sense of the present if not by digging through my past and righting every former wrong?

The trailer for The Social Network understands this. In a stroke of genius, it uses a choir version of Radiohead’s Creep, evoking all of these feelings by playing the song over Facebook’s familiar icons, button clicks, and pictures. And the song speaks truth. We all feel like creeps sometimes — like we are on the outside looking in, unable to penetrate the group of people that would surely understand us, keep us company, and comfort us when we’re sad. In the case of Facebook, that group is largely made up of people from our past. We stand outside their window, invisible, peering into their lives like a total fucking creep. And they do it to us too. We have agreed to be creeps to each other.

The only wrinkle in all of this is that the people we are looking for no longer exist. They are adults now — fatter, married, fathers, mothers, employees — fully functional members of society who bear little resemblance to the idealized version we have projected onto them. They don’t have the answers. They don’t have the key to unlocking the mystery of our own self-realization. They are not supporting characters in our own quirky indie movie, where the disheveled hero comes of age through a series of strange encounters with his past as The Shins play in the background. They’re just people — which makes them just as fucked up and boring as us.

On Lost, Desmond found that it was impossible to change the course of the future — “What happened, happened.” Unlike Marty McFly, who came back to a future that (in very Regan 80’s fashion) involved a better car, a better house, and a father with a better job and more money, Desmond couldn’t save his friend Charlie from death even though he knew it was going to happen. Facebook provides the same dilemma, obviously, since we are not actually traveling through time. However, even when past relationships are re-established, it would seem almost impossible for them to measure up to the standard we have created for them. How does a person from the past fit into the present? It’s almost as unwieldy as Bill and Ted bringing Napoleon to San Dimas. Reconnecting over a lunch or two is one thing; forming a new, meaningful relationship with a new version of an old friend is another. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it is unusual.

It’s endlessly fascinating to see what people put on their Facebook pages — how they choose to suit up for their trip in the time machine. I realize most people don’t think too hard about what they post, but it is, of course, a projection of what we want people to think of us, even if it is only subconsciously. After resisting Facebook for a long time, I can now murder hours on it. I try not to, but the allure of time travel is often too much to resist. Nothing makes me feel like I am actually back in a certain period of my life like creeping on Facebook. It provides certain elements that simply looking at old photographs cannot.

The interactivity is slightly dangerous and invigorating. Even though I will never send messages to most of these old friends, the knowledge that I can through one swift click of a button is enough to get my heart pounding, especially if it’s late at night and I’m a few drinks deep. It’s like walking a social tightrope with no net. It’s so easy to say things that  should have been said long ago, but the consequences of time travel paradox loom in my head as my fingers hover over keyboard buttons. If I press this button, what will it mean for my present? For my future? Marty McFly interfered with the past and almost erased himself from existence. It’s fun to look at the past on Facebook, but the danger of touching it is both part of the thrill and only a very occasional line that should be crossed with a few old friends who can handle the full force of 1.21 gigawatts. You don’t want to fade from the Polaroid.

And so I keep coming back to that Radiohead song, and I can’t get over how perfectly it’s used in The Social Network trailer. Those four lines at the top of this page capture every emotion that fuels the popularity of Facebook. They are the flux capacitor. I want you to notice when I’m not around. Such a simple statement, so sublime in its universality — for good friends who are now lost to us, or casual acquaintances with which we share the present, or the close, intimate relationships that make up our day-to-day — we just want to be remembered. We don’t need to be cherished and adored by everybody, but we do have a basic need to be acknowledged. Even though we’re not friends anymore, and maybe we were never that close in the first place, do you think about me as much as I think about you?

You’re so fucking special. Some people read this line in the song as sarcastic, but I think they’re only partially right. Thom York is somehow being painfully earnest and sarcastic at the same time. We elevate people in our past to these mythical beings that are somehow living better lives than us. They are somehow happier or more talented or smarter or less lonely. And maybe they are. Some of them undoubtedly are. While York absolutely thinks the people he is looking in on are above him, he also understands that they are not. Just because you are aware of a delusion does not mean the delusion doesn’t exist — it doesn’t mean the delusion doesn’t have power. I wish I was special. All of us yearn to stand apart in some way. All of us want to have our voices heard above the crowd if only for a moment. Thom York started a band, I’m writing a blog post, and you might post a picture of your kids. More people might hear Thom York’s song than read this post or see your picture, but does that make it more valuable than what we’ve produced? Probably. But we all do what we can.

But I’m a creep. Because let’s face it, most people don’t notice when I’m not around, and they certainly don’t notice when I’m poking around their Facebook page. And just because I’ve been invited doesn’t make it much better. People are amused by the cast of Jersey Shore and the ease at which they use the term “creeping” to describe the act of going out, socializing with strangers, and trying to pick them up. But in our Facebook-time travel-voyeuristic times, should we be so surprised at how easily it rolls of the tongue? Aren’t we, in fact, creeping on the cast of Jersey Shore at the same time we laugh at them for using the term? We can hide behind the shield of irony all we want, but that is exactly what we are doing. I’m a creep and so are you.

And there’s nothing special about it.

Some links:

The Social Network trailer (if you haven’t been to the movies in the last month)

Divorce, Facebook style

The 12 Most Annoying Facebookers

If you are a sports fan and also the type of person who thinks about things, witnessing your team win a championship is, of course, a wonderful, wonderful thing. However, I suspect that most thinking sports fans would admit it also comes with a twinge of melancholy reflection. It’s a time when it’s hard not to think about your sports fandom in general, about whether or not all the time and energy you put into cheering for your teams is worth it, about if sports really matter in any tangible way.

These are questions that only subtly occurred to me as a child, when I was able to get caught up in the pure emotion of a moment and quickly dismiss any need to define or qualify an athletic achievement, but as I’ve gotten older, I feel compelled to answer those nagging questions that come from my need for sports fandom to be logical. As such, I think I’m actually a bigger and more passionate sports fan now than I was when I was a kid.

Every sports fan must face these questions, and many fans don’t realize it until their team wins a championship. What value do these victories have for me personally? When your team wins a game in the regular season, the answer is simple: “Well, this win moves them closer to the playoffs.” In the playoffs, the answer is also simple: “Well, this win moves them closer to a championship.” But when your team wins the championship? “Well, this win means they won the championship.”

It’s okay to be a little unsettled by that answer and seek something deeper. I believe the answer can be found by looking at the dynamic of our inner-city rivalries (i.e. White Sox vs. Cubs, Yankees vs. Mets, etc).

Many people have tried to explain the intensity of these rivalries, while frustrated, hardcore sports fans often complain about their trivial nature (particularly in baseball, where interleague play is still a touchy subject in some circles). Why, for example, do some White Sox fans seem to care more about a three game series with the Cubs, who play in a different league, than they do with the dreaded Minnesota Twins, with whom they are perennially engaged in a pennant race?

The answer usually devolves into tired discussions of South Side inferiority complexes, or grandiose arguments about working class vs. bourgeoisie, or white trash vs. frat boy. It’s all (mostly) baseless nonsense that ignores the fundamental, often-subconscious driving force of all sports-fandom that fuels these inner-city rivalries and tells us why winning championships matter: shared experience.

Our need, our fucking craving for shared experience is what drives a multi-trillion dollar American sports industrial complex. Even more than movies, television, and music, where niches thrive and fragment the population into cliques based on taste, sports fandom is one of the last remaining things that can bring almost everyone together into one common, shared experience. We need this. We crave this. Because we are all terrified to be alone.

And this is why people get so crazy over White Sox vs. Cubs – because it so upsets what draws us to sports in the first place. It disrupts an equation that should be as reliable as gravity. Our Team Wins = Community. Our Team Wins = Togetherness. Our Team Wins = Shared Positive Experience Among Friends, Family, and Strangers.  It is these equations that draw us to sports, even if we don’t realize it. When the White Sox and/or Cubs are winning, the equation is still valid among part of the city, but it does not apply for the rest.

This is the only logical explanation for White Sox and Cub fans to hate each other, because the rest is all anecdotal white noise, and even stupid people must realize this on some level. For example, the meathead will say: “No, I hate Cub fans because one time I was at a Sox/Cub game and this guy in a Santo jersey and an upside-down visor spilled beer on my foot.” Or, “No, I hate the White Sox because this one time a guy with a misspelled tattoo cut in front of me in the hot dog line.” Or even more familiarly and cringe-worthy, “I hate Cub fans because they don’t pay attention to the game; they’re just there to drink.” Or, “I hate White Sox fans because their park is ugly and they obsess over the Cubs for no reason.”

These are all the ramblings of the un-self-realized. They are babies in need of a binky. They are lost in a forest of their own emotions and are desperately looking for a path to lead them out. Yes, two fandoms in close proximity to each other will understandably have conflicts over any number of trivial things, but the basis for their shared hatred is simply because one won’t join in the other’s party when things are going well. I am not above this. I am a White Sox fan who is disturbed when the Cubs win. It bothers me. But it bothers me for no other reason than it makes me feel like a stranger in my own city – a tourist just passing through. And I fucking hate that.

In his stand up act, Jerry Seinfeld jokingly accuses sports fans of “rooting for laundry,” because of the transient nature of professional athletes. Chuck Klosterman, in an essay about how always rooting for the home team is illogical, makes a case for why he used to be a Boston Celtics fan but now is not, because they have different players, coaches, owners, and a new stadium.  The only thing they have in common with the teams he loved in the 70s, he argues, is parquet flooring. “I’m not rooting for flooring,” Klosterman quips.

And while I love both Seinfeld and Klosterman, I think they misunderstand the value of cheering for the home team and underestimate the depth to which we need shared experience. When the Chicago Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup this year, it was magical. It meant the world to me. I could give you my history with the Hawks to prove I am a “true fan,” but that would be lame, and it’s irrelevant anyway. People often think that how long they “suffered” with a team is directly proportional to how much they are allowed to enjoy a championship, but that’s pretty much bullshit. Certainly, long suffering fans may enjoy it more, but it’s not for anyone to judge how excited you are allowed to get when your team wins it all. Because when your team wins it all, it’s not about you, and those long suffering fans realize that better than anyone else.

When your team wins it all, the emotions that get stirred up are about all the people you’ve shared the journey with. They’re about your dad or your brothers or your friends or your cousins or whoever it was that cared about the team as much as you did. You’re happy for them, and you’re happy that you have something that bonds you to them.

This is a tangible thing. When your team wins it all there is more time between friends, there is more discussion, there is more shared experience. There is another thing in the universe that will make you feel less alone, and that’s pretty fucking cool. It’s also perfectly logical.

It is in this sense that the players hardly matter. People will often argue that it’s professional athletes that turn them off to sports– their salaries, their attitudes, their occasional criminal activity – but to obsess over the players is to miss the point. It happens the other way too – fans get irrationally attached to players and will resent the team (usually very temporarily) when they trade them or lose them to free agency. Klosterman’s version of sports fandom, for example, is entirely based around players. He argues that one should be a fan of a team because its players are interesting and/or you enjoy their unique style of play. But this seems to be a very narrow, and ultimately disappointing, view of what sports fandom can be. Yes, the drama of personal narrative and the analysis of strategy in sports is part of the fun, but if that is all there is, I don’t think I could be any more emotionally invested in it than I am to, say, a season of the Real World/Road Rules Challenge (which I love, by the way, but watching the White Sox win the World Series brought tears to my eyes, the same can’t be said for when Landon and Carley brought home 1^st place in Fresh Meat 2).

For most of us, I think sports are more than a glorified reality show. And that’s not to say reality television, or television in general, can’t provide shared experience – it just can’t do it on the level that professional sports can. I might like the Top Chef, and you might like The Next Food Network Star, but we all love the Chicago Bears. There’s something fantastic about walking down the street and interacting with perfect strangers about your team. “Go Hawks,” the dude pumping gas next to you will say when he sees your Indian head t-shirt. A twenty-minute bar stool conversation can happen about the inadequacy of the White Sox bullpen come playoff time.

These may seem like small things, but they are not. How many things unite us on such a large scale? Certainly not politics, not religion, not our careers, and not other forms of entertainment. Some people complain about a championship run getting top billing on a local newscast, and to some extent, I understand their argument, but I don’t think it’s completely without value. It’s comforting to know other human beings are experiencing the same thing as you – that they are witnessing an achievement we can collectively root for. It’s good for the public health. The game itself might be frivolous, the outcome may even be inconsequential, but the experience of bonding with other people in a sports bar, on the street, or in your living room is an important part of feeling human.

I love sports because I love my friends and I love my family and I love my city. My love for sports does not exist in a vacuum and cannot be separated from these things. I root for my team to be good because I know it will mean something significant for my relationships with the people I love. I know when I walk the streets of my city, there will be a buzz in the air – a feeling of unity that I’ve never seen duplicated by any other event. And when my team wins it all, and that part of my brain asks, “Why does this matter?” all I have to do is look around and hug the person standing next to me.

Watching the LeBron James debacle makes us reconsider everything we once thought about James and the team of advisers surrounding him. In one grand moment, LeBron went from being perceived as a shrewd businessman and sensitive soul to an out of touch mercenary with little regard for his NBA legacy or the fans of the Cleveland Cavaliers.

This is the absolute worst decision he could have made for both his corporate brand and his career as a basketball player. I’m not saying this because I feel like a rejected Bulls fan (even though I do feel like a rejected Bulls fan). In fact, the more I think about it, the only decision that made complete sense for James was to stay in Cleveland, but almost anything other than the Miami scenario would not have killed his reputation in such a surefire way. Had he signed with any other of his final four teams (Bulls, Knicks, Nets, Clippers), Cavalier fans would undoubtedly still be crushed, but they sure as hell would be taking it better than having to watch him join an unholy triumvirate on the sunny and boobalicious shores of South Beach.

If James felt that he had to leave Cleveland, Chicago was the best choice for both his business and his basketball – no true basketball person would disagree with this. With the Bulls’ ability to provide a capable young core, an international city, and still the capacity to make the team singularly his own, the Bulls were three for three in things that matter. The Knicks, Clips, Heat, and Nets could only provide him two of those three things. It’s not rocket science.

Instead, James decided to surround himself with the two other most talented players in free agency and become a villain to NBA fans the likes of which has never been seen. Can you imagine a basketball world where nearly everyone who cares about the game will conceivably (and likely) be cheering for Kobe Bryant next spring? When you have entered a situation in which Kobe Bryant is wearing the white hat, you know you have entered the land of the fucked. The NBA was already facing comparisons to the WWE because of its officiating problems, but the silhouette will now be complete when you see the fervor with which NBA fans will root against their newly acquired heel.

And a pro wrestling heel is exactly what James has become – in the old timey Iron Sheik way even. Just look at the scorched earth letter that Cleveland Caveliers owner Dan Gilbert wrote. Has an NBA owner ever sounded more like Bobby Heenan? It was fantastic and cathartic for basketball fans everywhere. Even Mark Cuban never went that far.

LeBron and his advisers had to anticipate this reaction, which is exactly why his decision to join the Heat was so surprising. In the seven years LeBron has been in the league, much has been written about the entourage that helps him make his decisions. James has enjoyed sparkling, coddling media coverage, and deservedly so. His conduct and business decisions have been nearly flawless (sure, there have been a few minor bumps in the road, but when you consider our modern media landscape, it would be hard to imagine another athlete facing as much scrutiny and coming out looking as good as James did for seven long years). But faced with the biggest decision of his career, James and his team made the one move, the one move that would create serious questions about his NBA legacy. His once golden advisers have moved him into the ultimate no-win situation. If the Heat win titles, fans will say: So what? You mercinaried up at the age of 25. You pulled an old man move when you had the potential to become an immortal legend by bringing a championship to Cleveland. If the Heat don’t win titles? Fuhgettabotit. In fact, not winning titles in Cleveland would have been better for his legacy than winning titles with the Heat. At least he would have become a Quixotic Joan of Arc Sundance Kid that went down in a hail of bullets as he tried desperately to bring a championship to a forgotten city that desperately needed a winner.

In other words, while LeBron James may legitimately be the best basketball player to ever live, he will never be considered as such, not unless Dwayne Wade falls off a cliff. Because even if the Heat win the next six championships in a row, those championships will not belong to LeBron the way Jordan’s championships belong to him or Tim Duncan’s belong to him or Kobe’s last two belong to him. Everybody will understand this, which is why his move to the Heat seems to be such a bad business decision.

But if you look at all this from the right angle, it might end up being sort of awesome for everyone except LeBron (and Wade, Bosh, Pat Riley, and the Heat). In a sense, LeBron’s image has died so the rest of the NBA can live. He is basketball Jesus. Apropos, since his “Witness” brand so crudely played on the biblical implications of the word.

Think about it: with the birth of a new supervillian comes the emergence of fresh superheroes. Could anyone be more perfect to play the role of our white hat, our knight in shining armor, than Kevin Durant? Kevin Durant is Bruce fucking Willis and LeBron James is Hans Gruber. At this point, Durant could walk onto the court next fall with heroin needles sticking out of his arm, snorting coke off a hooker’s ass, and still be the fan favorite. Of course, this won’t happen because Kevin Durant is Kevin Durant, a sweet kid who just signed a five-year extension with Oklahoma City (Oklahoma City! If you think Cleveland is bad…), a kid who has a game that is shaping into one of the most exciting in the league.

And it’s not just Durant. It’s Kobe. It’s the fucking Boston Celtics. It’s Dwight Howard and the Orlando Magic. It’s my own Chicago Bulls. Everyone in the NBA suddenly looks like the good guys. Can you imagine an NBA full of good guys? The other night, as I watched the response pour in over James’ announcement, I never thought it possible to feel such fondness for Joakim Noah. He looked into the camera with that smirk I used to hate and told LeBron, Wade, and company: “Bring it on, motherfuckers” (I’m paraphrasing). Suddenly, his smirk wasn’t so detestable. Suddenly, he was my favorite person in the universe. Suddenly, I was imagining a world in which all those crucial NBA role players might not want to play with the bad guys, but just might prefer to earn more money and saddle up with the likes of Durant, Howard, Rose, Nash, or Dirk.

Suddenly, the NBA was exciting again. Because, let’s face it, a good bad guy makes things more exciting. What is The Dark Knight without the Joker? Suddenly, I hate the Miami Heat more than I’ve hated any team since the New York Knicks of the ’90s. And I loved hating the New York Knicks of the ’90s.

This is not the death of the NBA, as some have suggested; this is the birth of a new type of NBA fan united under one common goal. LeBron James has died so our NBA fandom could live. So go ahead, buy yourself some new NBA gear. Perhaps a bright new blue and orange Oklahoma City Thunder shirt. Perhaps a Carlos Boozer bobblehead. And when the Heat play the Cavs in Cleveland next season, and you enjoy rooting for the Cavs more than you’ve enjoyed rooting for anything in a long, long time, partake in it with pure joy, and do this in remembrance of the fallen King.

When they told us the lump on her neck might be cancerous, here is the promise I made myself: if anything happened to her — if she should die before she reached the age of, say, 10 — I would never own another dog. And not only would I never own another dog, I would become one of those over-the-top, movie villain, “I’ve-had-pain-in-my-past-which-explains-my-hate-for-this-certain-thing” type of person who actively dislikes dogs and refuses to be around them because all my displaced anger turns me into some kind of K-9 murdering monster like Cruella DeVille.

Clementine did die. She died not long after I made myself that promise, but I have yet to become that person. As much as I wanted to erase the part of my brain that loves dogs, I find myself unable to deny one simple fact: Dogs are awesome, even the parts that cause you pain.

When your dog dies, it’s fucking hard. Anyone who has loved a dog understands this; those who have never loved a dog cannot possibly comprehend it. This is why when other dog owners find out your dog has died, they will console you as if one of your friends has passed away, while others offer well-intentioned condolences that somehow always seem to have a subtext of:  ”Get over it, dickwad. It’s just a dog.” Or maybe I’m just being too sensitive.

I’ve had three dogs in my life, each one of them dying too early, each one of them on my mind almost every day because there have been few things that have given me as much joy, few things I’ve loved so purely and so simply. It’s been almost eight months since Clementine died, but every time I am on my way home, I think about how she will not be there to greet me when I walk in the door. The silence is still staggering, and even now, when I walk down the streets of my neighborhood, I think about walking them with her.

Worst of all, when I pass the veterinarian’s office, I try not to think about her final weeks as she limped around due to bone cancer eating away at her ankle, or the last moments I spent with her in the vet’s office before she died. But honestly, it’s almost impossible not to think about these things. I have to force myself to flush out the sad thoughts with all the great memories I have of her, of which there are plenty.

On one summer afternoon, I was in the living room when I heard a loud crash in the kitchen. This wasn’t abnormal. It meant there was something particularly appealing in the garbage can, and Clementine had managed to open the cabinet under the sink and knock the trash over. I yelled as I rose to my feet and headed toward the kitchen, “Clementine! Goddamnit!”

Usually this resulted in Clementine running for her crate in our bedroom, but as I approached the kitchen, I didn’t see her scampering away. I was immediately terrified that she somehow hurt herself, until I saw this …

Some of her food had fallen into the empty case of beer and she was making a play for it. Yes, instead of grabbing the box off of her head, I ran and grabbed my camera. When I came back, she was still in the same spot, apparently tired of running into things as she tried to make her way out of the pitch black darkness all around her. When I took the box off, I think she was pretty confused by how hard I was laughing.

And then there was her friendship with Reggie the neighborhood cat, who was once a mortal enemy but slowly turned into pleasant curiosity on our routine walks. Upon first seeing him, Clementine used to turn into one of those Resident Evil dogs, howling and barking with severe intensity, which she never did to anybody or anything (save skateboarders), while Reggie would just sit watching, unafraid and unaffected.

This was their relationship until the day Clementine got nose-to-nose with him without even realizing it. Reggie had been sleeping in a ceramic pot at the end of a neighbor’s front yard. Clementine caught a whiff of something interesting, but did not realize it was feline until she peeked inside. I tensed up, suspecting that Clementine might decapitate Reggie with one quick snap of the jaw. Instead, she continued to sniff excitedly as Reggie just rolled onto his stomach, soaking up the attention. From then on it was all stomach rolls and butt sniffs for those two.

There are more cutesy dog stories, which are probably only interesting to me, and like all dog owners, we have these anecdotes and love to share them while our friends nod (off) politely. The telling of these stories, especially after the dog is gone, is our attempt not just to hang on, but also to articulate why the relationship was so important in the first place. But the stories can’t do that. The cute stories are just stories. The real essence of the relationship is not in those funny, memorable moments, but rather in the space in-between — in the mundane every day, in the collection of hours that made up those years and slowly shifted your perspective without you even realizing it.

When I look back on the years we spent with Clementine, I realize the inordinate amount of time I spent worrying about her. I would not characterize myself as someone who thinks dogs are like children, nor do I equate a dog’s life with a human’s life, but I did fucking worry about her.

I worried that she had the right food, that she might be home alone too long when we were at work, that she was getting enough exercise, that she was running out of heartworm pills, that she had a bump on her neck that the doctor initially said was nothing to worry about.

And slowly my perspective changed. Suddenly, I cared about this furry thing more than I cared about myself. No, perhaps its life was not as valuable as human life, but it was a life. It was a living and breathing thing with a personality and needs and affections and motivations, and I was was directly responsible for its quality of life. This is a responsibility a lot of people take lightly, or at least one they don’t consciously think about very often, but it consumed me like I was Indiana Jones and the dog’s happiness was the Ark of the Covenant.

I think it weighted on me so much because I kept thinking about this simple fact: dogs are not aware of their own mortality, but they enjoy life so fucking much. Clementine loved the things most dogs love: food, naps, walks, smelly things, the pizza delivery man, food, company, food, her neighborhood doggy friends: Morrison, Harry, Elliot, and Addison. Dogs love these things with such a reckless abandon that it can’t help but be infectious. So your perspective slowly changes. Maybe that craft beer tastes a little better, maybe that lovingly and creatively prepared food is better appreciated, maybe that piece of music sounds a little sweeter, maybe you value your friends more.

Or maybe not. I’m not saying dog ownership is required to enjoy the finer things in life, nor am saying it makes everyone “appreciate the little things.” I’m just saying that for me, it changed my thinking in a significant, profound way. When you spend so much of your time thinking about these things — about how to keep the dog happy and healthy, about how they have somehow made your life better — and then the dog dies suddenly and before its time, it leaves a huge gaping hole in your life that can’t adequately be filled.

The common response to this is, “If you had kids, you wouldn’t feel so deeply about this.” To which I say, “Fuck you.” I realize that when you have kids a lot of things suddenly seem less important, which is exactly why I don’t want to have kids. Not to turn this into a rant against parents, but it’s hard to discuss your love of dogs without the comparison to parenthood being made. Parents tend to look down at childless dog owners with a sense of superiority and pity, as if you simply care for your dog you are somehow one of those mentally unbalanced loners that dresses the dog in baby clothes and makes it sleep in a crib.

I’ll just say that while becoming a parent is often the standard-bearer for selflessness and the emergence of true adulthood (or in some people’s minds, the criterion for attaining humanity in general), there might be an argument to be made for it being the ultimate act of narcissism. Perhaps it’s not a good thing that you feel less about seemingly trivial things. Perhaps caring singularly for little versions of yourself is not the only act by which to gain maturity, perspective, and empathy.

But whatever your feelings about parenthood, we can all agree that it is different than dog ownership, which is why the emptiness you feel when your dog dies can only be replaced by one thing: owning another dog.

When we were spending our final weeks with Clementine and her death was imminent, I thought a lot about if I would ever be able to own another dog. I asked myself if I could go through this pain again, if it was worth it to spend so much time building a relationship, training, and worrying, when a dog’s life is so short lived and fragile. I found the answer in her name:

Clementine. Wow. It hit me like a brick. Clementine.

We got Clementine from the Midwest Hound Rescue the day after Christmas, at which time she was not named Clementine, but Princess. Obviously, we asked about changing her name (because, really? Princess?), and they told us she was still young enough and that it would be fine. We searched our brains for names — something that would fit a Bluetick Coonhound, something southern, but not too southern; something clever, but not too clever. I had just watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind because I like to watch it every Christmas. It’s a great Christmas film, even if it is not about Christmas at all. Its themes of redemption, unrequited love, pain, and hope all somehow seem to fit my mood during the holiday season. The female lead’s name in that film? Clementine. And so it was decided.

(Spoilers Ahoy)

In the film, Joel (Jim Carey) is dumped by his long time girlfriend Clementine (Kate Winslet), and learns that she has had the relationship erased from her memory by a quacky doctor with some bizarre new technology. Joel, in turn, decides to have part of his brain erased so that he has absolutely no memory of her as well. During the procedure, much of the film takes place inside Joel’s head as he tries to hang on to memories of Clementine as they are being erased by the doctor and his crew.

The film ends so beautifully with a lesson I desperately needed to be reminded of after our dog died:

Joel and Clementine meet again after they have had part of their brains erased. They have no memory of their past relationship and are again attracted to one another. Everything is cool until the couple is tipped off that they had previously dated, fell in love, grew to hate each other, and had their memories erased. They are given their patient files and become aware of how terribly it ended.

Despite all the pain they went through, despite knowing that it ended in bitterness and tears and tremendous suffering, they still find themselves wanting to be together — to try it again. In the end, Joel and Clementine decide to try again. Despite the pain and the hurt, they try again.

And so if my next dog is male, I think I’ll name him Joel.

“Everything dies, baby. That’s a fact. Maybe everything that dies someday comes back.”

- Bruce Springsteen, Atlantic City

“Now you are like me.”

– The Protector

I’m wondering how Lost head writers/producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse are feeling this week. My guess is that they might be a bit disappointed. Not necessarily disappointed in themselves — I’m sure, as artists, they stand by their work — they may, however, be disappointed in some of their most vocal supporters on the web, as most major TV writers I’ve seen chiming in on Lost’s curtain call seem to have universally misinterpreted the last scene to varying degrees. The desired result of the closing moments was clearly to evoke debate, but the response doesn’t feel like spirited argument to me. Instead, so far at least, critics and the masses seem to be falling into one of two camps without much disagreement: 1) complete befuddlement, or 2) unfortunate misreading.

For the record, I thought the finale was a remarkable, cinema-worthy experience, with an ending that was as appropriately ambitious and enigmatic as the show itself. And while I don’t claim to know the hearts and minds of Lindelof, Cuse, and their writing staff, my suspicion is that on Monday morning they might have wished to have one quick rewrite of Christian Shephard’s monologue to his son. I want so badly to give the finale four stars, but I have to doc a half-star if only because Cuse and Lindelof wrote a scene that is forcing me to listen to people throw around the “purgatory” theory again, which makes me want to pee in someone’s communion wine. I hope to  soon tackle the entire series in an upcoming essay, but for now, I’d like to just focus on the finale and a few things that I take issue with regarding the immediate critical response.

Issue #1: The sideways world is not purgatory, nor are the characters “all dead” any more than you and I are “all dead.”

This misreading mostly comes from Christian’s line about everyone dying “either before you or after you,” and also the one about this being a place they “created together to see each other one last time, because these are the people that mattered most.” I use quotation marks, but I’m paraphrasing. This seems to have caused most people to assume that Faraday’s theory about the nuclear bomb creating an alternate timeline was incorrect, and instead, the sideways world we have been watching all season was simply an afterlife where the characters (or as some have speculated, only Jack) could do the work they needed to get into “heaven.” Some have (thickly) called it purgatory, others avoid the word, but end up at the same concept.

I say bullshit.

If we are to believe this, all the other characters who inhabited this world (most notably, Jack’s son) are extraneous and somewhat irrelevant. This doesn’t seem like Lindelof and Cuse’s style. They have repeatedly been telling us through dialogue, “what happened happened,” and that everything we have seen matters in a real, tangible way. I would argue that Faraday’s nuclear bomb plan did indeed work, and that rather than some “afterlife,” the sideways world is a tangent universe just as “real” as what we were watching for the first five seasons.

The most important piece of evidence for this theory is the long, all too CGI-ey tracking shot in this season’s premiere, in which the island was revealed to be under water, which is clearly the result of the nuclear explosion. If we are to believe that the sideways world is a form of “afterlife,” it would mean that it was created by the collective conscious of our heroes and not the nuclear bomb. This doesn’t sit right with me, as it basically negates almost the entire thrust of the fifth season. Furthermore, if the afterlife theory is to be believed, this is a really uninspired vision of what happens to you when you die. You sit around living a slightly different life until a Scottish guy with good hair makes you remember the other lives you lived? That doesn’t sound like any version of “purgatory” or “afterlife” that I’ve ever heard of.

Are we to believe that if Desmond had never been “awakened,” that our heroes would have spent an eternity in this place? After all, remember the only reason that Desmond was able to “wake” them was because of his special ability to travel between time and space due to his exposure to electromagnetism (or, “the light”) when the hatch blew.

No, I do not believe Desmond was traveling to some heavenly “waiting room” where all of our heroes could see each other one last time. Instead, he was traveling to a sideways dimension that is exactly what it was sold to us as: a timeline in which the island was destroyed, thus the plane never crashed because Jacob was not trying to bring our heroes to the island.

When Christian Shepherd said that the sideways world was a place “you all created together,” he meant that it was their united effort to change their island destinies that allowed them to get to this point and travel between universes. This is something that very few people have done — people like Desmond, Eloise Hawking, and Christian Shepherd — superior beings who have, for one reason or another, mastered time and space to achieve total enlightenment and break free from the laws of time and space and death. Because our heroes have existed in two separate dimensions and are now aware of that fact, they have also achieved total enlightenment and joined the ranks of those aforementioned characters. They are indeed “gods” because they are the creators of that universe. They created it by blowing up Jughead.

Our heroes in the “regular” time line are not aware of their other selves. Juliet became aware just before she died, as did Jack. Yes, they are dead, and can perhaps rejoin with every other version of their selves. Everybody who survived, however, are moving on to their regular lives. Our heroes in the sideways world, as fully enlightened gods, cannot go on living in this sideways universe. Instead, they are moving on to a higher plane of existence, where perhaps they will become protectors of time and space, much like Eloise Hawking and Christian Shepherd.

Issue #2: Lost is not one big love fest toward every conceivable type of religion.

Although that seems to be the cowardly critical consensus. Of course, like every great piece of art, certain elements of the story will be interpreted differently based on the critical lens through which it is viewed. Since most TV critics are not willing to step out on a limb and write about religion in any real way for fear of alienating segments of their readership and losing their jobs, they instead take a “to each his own” stance, resulting in pretty bland analysis of what is happening in terms of the religious aspects of the show. This is their basic interpretation: “Well, there were all those religious symbols on the window, so Lost seems to be telling us that it’s not what faith you pick, but rather, that you just have some faith in order to achieve true enlightenment.”

Boring. It would be much more interesting to mount a case for Lost as a Christian parable, or a recruiting video for Buddhism, or SOMETHING. Certainly, there is evidence in the text that would allow you to do any one of those things, and I’m sure over the next couple years those things will all be written (just not by Allen Sepinwall, Mo Ryan, Doc Jensen, or Michael Ausiello). It’s fair to mount a case for Lost being a pro-religion show; I just don’t think that argument is correct. So allow me to bring my agnostic humanism to the party.

If there is a character on Lost that most represents a traditional form of deity, it is certainly Jacob, what with his confusing “rules,” frustrating communication skills, and general lack of giving a shit about messing with people’s lives for the sake of winning a cosmic dick measuring contest. It is generally accepted that Jacob is the character with the most knowledge, the most wisdom, and the most noble task of keeping the island’s central light from being destroyed.

It should be noted, however, that Hurley and Jack in the “regular” time line, even as island protectors, were not aware of their other selves or of the sideways universe, thus it stands to reason that Jacob also never knew about these things. It is in this way that our heroes in the sideways world have attained a status greater than than that of Jacob. In the sideways universe, the island has been destroyed, Jacob no longer exists, and the world is still standing. No longer Jacob’s “candidates,” our heroes lives are all improved: Jack has broken the bad-dad cycle, Sawyer is on the right side of the law, Sayid is on the verge of getting with Nadia, Hurley has good luck, Charlie is still alive, etc. Not only that, but it is in this Jacob-less world where our heroes are able to become gods themselves.

Most fans and critics seem to think that Jacob was an admirable character, but notice the subtle jab that closes the book on him in the finale moments of the series. When Hurley expresses worry over taking on the fucked-up-shadyness of becoming the island’s protector, Ben comforts him, “That’s how Jacob did things. Maybe you can make things better.”

And speaking of Ben, it would make sense that he did not want to pass on to a higher form of existence with the rest of our heroes. After all, he spent a lifetime (or perhaps multiple lifetimes) in servitude to the island, its light, and its protector. In that moment in front of the church, he has come to the realization that in the grand scheme of things, maybe protecting the island’s light, while certainly of some import, was not the most important thing in the universe, as he always thought it was in his his service to both Jacob and Hurley. He still wants to believe that the island’s light is more important than total enlightenment. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if he were quietly planning a trip to the bottom of the ocean.

If we look back over the course of the series, we might start to realize just how fucked up the relationship was between Jacob and his followers. Jacob, in his infinite wisdom, decided to keep his true agenda hidden from the Others. His elaborate game, which included a rule that would not allow babies conceived on the island to be born on the island, was all an effort to find a candidate righteous enough replace him. The Others, like so many fundamentalists, completely misinterpreted Jacob’s mission.

In the world of Lost, there are people who have special abilities. Miles and Hurley can communicate with the dead, Walt has psychic tendencies, and it seems little Aaron  might have also been predisposed to have some sort of supernatural power. The Others believed it was their responsibility to find these people and study them in an effort to gain a better understanding of Jacob’s will. Ben, the leader of the Others, had never even seen Jacob. He knew nothing about candidates and secret island lights. He had no idea why children could not be born on the island and even recruited a fertility specialist named Juliet to come to the island to solve the problem. Ben and the Others believed their cause to be noble, but they had no real idea what that cause was. They only got bits and pieces from Jacob, never the whole picture. They had faith in his will. They craved understanding and were willing to fight and kidnap and kill based on ancient clues and cryptic interpretations. Sound familiar?

I don’t know how else to read this but as a criticism of how religious faith functions and the “God works in mysterious ways” excuse that is subscribed to by nearly every major religion. In the end, there were forces at work greater than Jacob. In the end, it was our heroes themselves who became the source of their own salvation through their ability to create community and genuine  human love. As such, Lost is most definitely not an endorsement of faith in religions or deities, but rather of faith in our fellow man, as they live and breathe.

Issue #3: The way people have reacted to the series finale, and Lost in general, disturbs me to the point that I can no longer talk about it with most people.

That’s not to say people aren’t entitled to dislike Lost. Of course, they have that right. But it seems to me that most people who love to talk about how much they hate the show have completely illogical reasons for doing so, and their disdain for it comes from the popular public perception of what Lost is, not the actual show itself.

You hear this a lot: “People wasted six years of their life watching that shit and in the end it didn’t answer any questions!”

First of all, and I’m not sure if you realize this, but a television show does not air for an entire year without stopping. It airs for one hour a week, about 43 minutes after commercials, for approximately 19 or so weeks a year. In the end, people who watched Lost, “wasted” much less time than most people spend with terrible sitcom reruns like Two and Half Men or horrifically worthless reality shows like American Idol. I guarantee that when Two and a Half Men ends its run, you will not read one article about how people “wasted” their time watching it, yet it is a piece of entertainment whose sole purpose is to waste its viewers’ time (not necessarily a dishonorable mission, BTW).

But even people who don’t like Lost would have to admit that it at least had ambitions greater than most television shows. One of the main reasons it was successful was not just because it had mysteries, but because the show was constantly hinting that the mysteries mattered in some cosmic sense. The question wasn’t “Who Shot JR?” The question was, “How are all these strangers so connected to each other?” And that question was absolutely answered.

This seems to be where the line in the sand is drawn. Some people wanted “Who Shot JR?” When they asked, “Why is a polar bear on this island?” They weren’t really given the answer in one sweeping scene, but rather in bits and pieces over the course of a few seasons. I get how that might frustrate people and I get why that may cause some people to change the channel. What I don’t get is not changing the fucking channel and then blaming other people for “wasting your time.” Also, it’s not that questions were not answered, it’s that you didn’t have the patience or the comprehension skills to form opinions on things that were not directly spelled out for you.

I never understood when people told me they were sure Lost would disappoint them in the end, yet they continued to watch it. I know that Grey’s Anatomy will disappoint me, and that’s why I don’t fucking watch it. If you made a conscious decision to watch a show that you consistently expected to dislike, well,  you should have your television taken away.

That said, watching Lost does require a great deal of thought and retention of admittedly trivial information. If you think life is too short for shit like that, and critical brain resources are better applied in other arenas, I totally get it. I just wish people would say that instead of, “they never answer anything!” Which is just simply not true.

Final Issue: I don’t think I’ll ever love a television show like I loved Lost.

I often felt as if it were made just for me. It combined so many things that I love about good fiction: zig-zagging timelines, overlapping story archs, a true ensemble cast, pop culture references up the ying-yang, a genunie postmodern sensibility, existential themes, expertly executed action sequences, and a keen sense of comic relief.

When Lost began I had just moved into my first post-college apartment. I had my first real job and was legitimately on my own. I remember watching the pilot episode and being certain that I was witnessing the birth of something special. It promised to take a stance on the nature of existence, and by the end, I absolutely believe it did just that.

As Lost has concluded, I find myself in the midst of another major life change. The series has been a bookend to the most significant period of my life up to this point, and I hope it doesn’t sound ridiculous to say I have learned something from its lessons over these last six years.

Everything dies, baby. That’s a fact. Maybe everything that dies someday comes back.

Take this. Drink it.

Now you are like me.

In what is quickly developing into the biggest entertainment news story in quite some time, the Late Night Wars of the early nineties have been reignited. Only this time, it’s ten times more entertaining because so much of it is playing out in front of our faces in monologues across four or five different shows, instead of behind closed doors among agents and executives.

Like almost all big entertainment news stories, the “can’t-we-please-stop-talking-about-this-it-doesn’t-even-matter-especially-when-there’s-a-earthquake-in-Haiti-and-a-war-in-Afghanistan” contingent is starting to come out only days after the story is hitting its apex. Of course, Haiti is a more important story, worthy of coverage and all the relief efforts we can muster. Any Haiti benefit is a better use of our time than to worry about Conan O’Brien and Jay Leno. Everybody believes this. No one would argue with it. Yet, people continue to complain about the Late Night Wars coverage because they think it makes them seem intelligent. They position themselves as being above the discussion of what happens on television and believe our perception of them will be that they are somehow more in touch with the way the world works. I’m guilty of this too — it’s kind of like what I want people to think when I go out of my way to say I like Pavement (which I do, but still, I don’t have to say it. I don’t like that them that fucking much).

But these people don’t realize that their dismissal of the Late Night story doesn’t make them seem smart at all, it only makes them seem like people who can’t comprehend the cultural significance of an entertainment story as rare as this one. They fail to understand that what is produced on TV and what is popularly watched on TV can give us important insights into where we are emotionally and intellectually as a culture.

The truth is, this story does matter, and it is worth thinking about. Devoting time to asking some questions about the Late Night War does not automatically mean that you are ignorant to everything else that’s happening in the world. Smart people have the ability to multitask, prioritize, and filter. Try it some time. You might find that being an intelligent person has little to do with the subject you are studying, and more to do with the questions you ask while you are studying it.

Question #1: Why does it matter who hosts The Tonight Show?

Well, you have to understand what Jay Leno and Conan O’Brien represent symbolically. This has all been well documented, so I won’t spend too much time on it, but it basically breaks down like this:

When Jay Leno began guest hosting The Tonight Show for Johnny Carson, he abandoned his post as “relatively edgy and respected comedian” and started adopting a style that was completely bland and innocuous. The transition was slow but steady over the years, until sometime around the late nineties, when pretty much every comedy fan in existence came to the conclusion that Leno’s show was a vast wasteland of nothingness, and every shred of dignity, subtlety, and subversion that Carson once brought was gone. The only audience Jay had left was passive TV viewers and those in need of background noise while falling asleep. It turns out that is a lot of fucking people.

Leno realized the more bland his comedy, the more ratings he would get. It’s the same reason that lite rock stations always do well in radio: you can play it anywhere — dentist offices, grocery stores, oil change joints — and no one will be offended or give a shit. For many, it became clear that Jay cared a lot more about his car collection than he did about the art of comedy.

On the contrary, Conan O’Brien was building respect among comedians and comedy fans as Jay was losing it. He gained a respectable, passionate, young audience in a time slot that NBC thought would never be worth much after Letterman left. Conan left blood on the floor every night, taking chances with absurdist humor and (relatively) spontaneous interviews. Like Letterman, his was a talk show that allowed itself to be critical of the idea of talk shows. He respected his audience, and he wasn’t just punching a clock. He loved the show and treated it like it mattered, which it did.

Looking at what these two hosts represent, it matters greatly who hosts The Tonight Show, the longest running and most respected franchise in American television history. What do we value? A cynical power play by an individual who has proven himself time and again to be robotic when it comes to both human relationships and the art of comedy? For Jay, it’s not even about money. He has said publicly that he doesn’t even use his Tonight Show money, but instead relies on the scratch from his stand up to live. Many have speculated: when does this guy see his friends and family between doing The Tonight Show and performing hundreds of road gigs a year? When given the opportunity to reinvent what a talk show can be in a new time slot, his big move was to get rid of the desk.

So this is what we value: a strange, Machiavellian, silver haired, empty vessel who is not interested in money, comedic innovation, his family, or you.

Question #2: Wait a second. Isn’t this really just about your specific comedic taste, and by extension, yet another battle in the endless Culture War whereby liberal pseudo-intellectuals shit on salt-of-the-earth types who are too fucking tired at night to deal with your bullshit “brainy” comedy and just want a few chuckles before they go to bed?

Yes. Which is exactly why it’s a bigger story than some are willing to give it credit for. Except the way you’ve framed that question is insulting to both “salt-of-the-earth” types and “pseudo-intellectuals.” It implies that if you are conservative you are incapable of being smart, and if you are liberal you are incapable of working hard or having sound values.

Make no mistake, the Late Night War is an extension of the Culture Wars, but it has less to do with liberal and conservative politics than it does about the way we consume and process entertainment. It is true, there is some correlation between politics and the way we watch TV, but I think it’s an often misunderstood and overstated relationship that does nothing but muddy the waters. So let’s leave behind conservative/liberal/small town/big city and just focus on the way we consume pop culture. This is about people who actively consume entertainment and genuinely care about it vs. those who passively consume it, and when push comes to shove, don’t really care about it.

After all, people who passively watch TV aren’t always conservative and they aren’t always people who work so hard they have nothing left at the end of the day. They’re people who just don’t care that much about comedy or entertainment. You’re not going to find anyone who tells you they don’t like comedy, but there’s a difference between liking it and caring about it. Everyone likes to laugh, but not everyone is thinking about why they are laughing. On this point, passive TV watchers will agree with you. When it comes to Leno’s show, viewers hear a set up, a punchline, and giggles from the studio audience — this activates a response that resembles laughter.

Even people who admit to liking Leno would agree with most of this, in that none of them would say they are passionate about him. There are people who love Conan. No one loves Leno. They think he’s okay, because there’s almost nothing on television that they love, and anything that doesn’t actively annoy them is okay.

This was no more evident than the other night when Jimmy Kimmel destroyed Leno on his own show. The most fascinating thing about that clip was how the audience was not even on Leno’s side. In order to appreciate the gravity of this, you have to understand something about the psychology of studio audiences. They’re seeing a free show, probably while on vacation, and a famous person they’ve only seen on TV is standing in front of them in the flesh, telling jokes and promising to introduce them to some of the biggest stars in the world. The host could practically choke a puppy and they’d cheer him on.  A live audience always wants its host to succeed. The are predisposed to it. It is an unnatural, manufactured situation of hero worship. Just look at how people run up to shake Jay’s hand as he walks out on stage. If a guest comes on and insults the host, the crowd will always turn on the guest. Always.

But not this time. When Jimmy Kimmel begins to poke Jay, there are no boos and no hisses, only uncomfortable giggles and a quiet acknowledgment that they agreed with everything Kimmel was saying. If someone had gone on Conan’s show, told him to stop being a baby, and that there was no one to blame for this situation but him and his shitty ratings, the crowd would have never let the guest finish. They would have booed him mercilessly.

So, why didn’t the audience come to Jay’s defense when Kimmel attacked? Because even in that manufactured setting, his audience does not love him. Yes, they will clap and laugh politely when the light tells them to, but those who would sit in his audience or watch him on TV do not really care about what he represents, even if what he represents is their own comedic taste. They don’t think symbolically. They only see what’s on the surface, and right now, what’s on the surface is that Leno dicked over Conan. It’s clear to everyone, even people who passively consume pop culture.

Question # 3: Yeah, but even if you’re a Conan fan, wasn’t that Kimmel clip painful? Even if you hate what Leno represents symbolically, didn’t it make you feel bad for him personally?

Yes, especially after reading this fantastic GQ piece, whose title asks if Leno should be put on suicide watch. You get the impression the title is slightly tongue-and-cheek, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be legitimately concerned about where Leno might go from here.

He has been publicly outed for what many in the industry have been claiming for years. There have been stories swirling around Leno and his lack of humanity and sheer weirdness since he began hosting The Tonight Show. His overcompensation to come across as gregarious was a front. Behind the scenes, he is a notorious snake. In his podcast this week, Bill Simmons (a former writer on the Kimmel show) told a story about how potential guests were informed they could not come on The Tonight Show if they did the Kimmel show first. Howard Stern has been railing on Leno for years about stealing bits and acting without honor when hiring one of Stern’s key staffers. Most famously, there was The Late Shift (in both book and made-for-TV movie form) which chronicled the back stabbing and closet-hiding that went into Leno stealing The Tonight Show from Letterman, even though Dave was Johnny Carson’s personal friend and preferred replacement.

On a personal level, its fascinating to think about what is driving Leno. Over the past week, many have speculated on what his motives are, but few have come up with an answer that will stick.  It’s not money. His line about not using his Tonight Show money may be bullshit, but between the stand up gigs and his NBC salary, the man probably has more cash than any comedian on earth whose name is not Jerry Seinfeld. It’s not about comedy or critical success. People who write about TV universally despise him. And besides some old-time pals like Seinfeld, no comedians are defending his actions. They see him as selfish and bad for their art.

Most television writers are speculating that Jay needs not only the manufactured love from his studio audience, but also the adoration of all the executives in suits who are willing to blow him for his ratings. With a personal life that is, by all accounts, nonexistent, the adoration from these two contingents seem to be the only thing that he cares about. If that’s the case, it’s reasonable to worry about his sanity, because all of those things may be about to disappear.

Question #4: But if Leno’s audience doesn’t care about media, will it even matter that everyone in the media hates him? Won’t his large audience reappear once he goes back to his normal Tonight Show time slot?

Maybe. It’s probably the most interesting question surrounding this whole story, mostly because the outcome will reveal something about Jay’s passive audience. He has been outed as immoral and without empathy. His disregard for Conan and The Tonight Show legacy has been put in plain view. We know that the general public has a short memory, but haven’t they moved on with their late night viewing habits? We already know they’re not passionate about Jay, so they’re not going to go out of their way to watch him. Also, if his audience is supposed to be all “salt-of-the-earth” and whatnot, it stands to reason they should be so appalled by his behavior that they’ll no longer be able to view him as the handy gear-head next door who always has a good knee-slapper about what’s in the morning papers.

Which means that Jay’s success will depend heavily (as it always has) on the quality of his lead in. Through the majority of his career, Leno had the benefit of following huge hits like ER, Law and Order, and The West Wing. NBC doesn’t have hits like that anymore. Leno’s ability to regain his audience may rely on their ability to develop some, because when he comes back to The Tonight Show, public sentiment will not be on his side.

Question #5: What will happen to Conan, and does it even matter?

If he goes to Fox, it will matter greatly to both late night television and culture in general. If he decides to take a cable gig, the best case scenario is that his show will matter as much as The Daily Show, which ain’t too shabby either.

Conan moving to Fox could give the network the beginnings of a late night bohemiath. Remember, CBS had no late night presence when David Letterman moved there back in 1993. Letterman and his World Wide Pants have built a late night, billion dollar institution that will continue long after Letterman is gone. For many years, Fox has been reportedly looking to build something similar, and with all the heat on Conan, this may be their best chance.

If Conan creates a late night show for Fox, it will likely air at 11pm (10 central) and get a half hour jump on Jay and Dave, neither of whom are going to be doing their respective shows for too much longer (probably). In the next five years, it’s entirely possible that Fox will have the most seasoned late night host on the air just as the audience that grew up adoring him will be entering a time in their lives when they’re having kids and at their peak earning potential.

More importantly, it will mean that someone who genuinely cares about comedy and understands its social significance will be leading the way into the next generation of late night programming. It means a smart, talented comedian will not have been chewed up and spit out by an industry that has no use for someone willing to take risks. Anyone who truly cares about the state of smart comedy on TV has a stake in what happens next in Conan’s career. If he fades away, it’s bad news for all of us.

That said, Fox isn’t his only play. Imagine Conan on HBO. Isn’t it about time for an uncensored, nightly talk show? If anyone could reinvent the format on pay cable and build a buzz big enough to get A-list stars to come promote their shit to a smaller audience, it’s Coco.

Question #6: Why are we so fascinated by this, even to the point where people who didn’t watch any late night shows are suddenly watching 3 or 4 of them a night?

Because it’s real. It’s not “reality show” real; it’s “real” real, which we hardly ever see on TV, let alone on talk shows. A talk show is designed to give the illusion of reality — of two folks sitting down and talking to each other, but it’s all artifice. What’s fascinating about them is that even though we understand this artifice, the process of pre-interviews and movie clips and plugs and same-day editing, the shows are constantly on the verge of becoming real, but only rarely give us genuine glimpses into the players’ actual personalities.

I’m reminded of one of the best television moments of the past ten years, when comedian Artie Lange went on Joe Buck’s HBO talk show and jokingly accused Buck of frequently visiting “SuckingCock.com.” Lange proceeded to insult the inexperienced host throughout the discussion, and Buck even threatened to throw him off the stage. It was a stunning moment of reality –  a cringe-worthy, uncomfortable, dangerous, hilarious segment that stayed in the news cycle for a solid week and will eventually go down in television history.

The last few days of late night talk shows have been like that. Yes, most of it is coming from jokes that are very scripted, but those jokes are built on emotions that are so obviously genuine. Anyone paying attention over the years got the feeling that Letterman never liked Leno, and watching him unload last week was like watching a great boulder roll off his shoulders.

Similarly, when Conan took over The Tonight Show, he was clearly annoyed that Leno’s presence was undercutting and devaluing his inheritance, but he remained diplomatic and upbeat. As he let his true feelings come to the surface, it was remarkably entertaining television. If Conan has learned anything from this whole mess, he should understand that his recent ratings spike is based on people’s desire to see some genuine emotion. If he incorporates that element into his next venture, he just might reinvent late night television and usher in a new era of popular comedy we can be proud of.

Question #7: You seem to be taking this kind of personally. What gives?

Yeah, sort of. How perceptive of you. Here’s a true story:

A few years back, a close friend of mine lost his father to suicide. When I heard, I spent the day with him talking, crying, and just sitting around. It was a long day. By the time 11:30 (ct) rolled around, we were exhausted and emotionally drained. He turned on the TV and there was Conan. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was okay to laugh, but two minutes into the monologue my friend allowed himself to relax. He didn’t stop laughing for the next hour.

I don’t remember ever laughing like that before or since. They were deep, healing, cathartic laughs that allowed my friend to escape. I remember watching Conan bounce off the walls that night, and I remember wondering to myself how he was feeling personally. Maybe he didn’t feel good that day. Maybe he had a fight with his wife, or maybe one of his friends lost someone that day. If so, you’d never be able to tell, because that night he gave everything he had to make people laugh. He wasn’t just reading off cue cards and he wasn’t just concerned with helping some actor sell their bullshit movie. He was improving and interacting with his audience and actually listening to his guests.

I know that people all over the country have had experiences like this with different shows — I’m sure even Leno has comforted people from time to time. But for me and my friend it was Conan, and I’ll never forget that.

A Link:

Jay’s Revealing 2004 Announcement

Note: All entries are 100% spoiler free.

It’s true what they say about these lists. They’re incredibly self-indulgent, a pretty lame attempt at showing others how cool you think you are, how modern and plugged into popular culture your tastes happen to be. The selections will inevitably match most popular critics’ lists, with a few very carefully chosen deviations which most likely take the form of unique sequencing or a couple of populist or unexpected genre selections that are all meant to show you are indeed a free thinker.

Unless you are a paid critic or are voting in contribution to some publication, there is little reason for an individual to make such a list other than to publicly masturbate. There are two kinds of people who make these lists: (1) Non-creative types who need their personal taste to be their expression, because they are not achieving their creative needs in any other satisfying way, and as such, need to attach themselves to the creativity of others in order to satiate their artistic hunger. This may sound like a harsh assessment, but I don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with this practice. After all, not everyone knows how to be creative in a practical way, but everyone does have the desire to be creative. (2) Creative people who need to have their tastes validated. These are people who care very much about culture and the arts, but need to remind you of this fact because like every creative person that ever lived, they have major insecurities about their artistic taste being irrelevant and useless. Both of these types share one thing in common: they want you to tell them that you found an album/tv show/film/restaurant because they recommended it to you. They put it on their list and enlightened you and lit your path. They are your John the Baptist of good taste.

I know all these things are true, and I am guilty of being one or both of these types of people. I do not get paid to write and I am not contributing to any publication’s list, yet here I am spending an inordinate amount of time telling you my favorite shit. I can’t help it. I love making lists and I love reading other people’s lists. Of course they are completely subjective and unreliable.  I know how flawed and masturbatory they are, but I don’t care. I like to masturbate. And more importantly, I like to watch you masturbate. Don’t judge me, and don’t make me do this alone – post your own lists in the comments section. Pull your pants down around your ankles, recharge your batteries, grab that hand lotion, and follow me…

2009

The 20 Best Films of 2009

Note: I have yet to see Crazy Heart, Antichrist, An Education, Precious, Summer Hours, The Messenger, Bright Star, The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus, Brothers, Ponyo, and In the Loop.

The List:

20. Adventureland

’80s coming of age pieces are tough to do, especially without feeling like a John Hughes rip off, but everything in Adventureland feels authentic. From the soundtrack to the locations to the relationships, it becomes very clear that writer/director Greg Motolla lived through all of this.

19. The Cove

I thought last year’s Man on Wire being sold as a documentary that was also a “thriller” was a bit of an overstatement. This documentary actually lives up to that billing. As a filmmaking crew tries to expose the brutal slaughter of dolphins in Japan, we also learn the reasons why it is happening and why it is so unnecessary and immoral.

18. Up in the Air

This is an old fashioned movie star movie that Hollywood just doesn’t make much of anymore. It’s a quiet character study that is funny and romantic. The lead part is the kind of role Paul Newman would have played, and Clooney lives up admirably to that standard.

17. The Invention of Lying

A wicked little comedy that is less about its high concept than it is a sly satire on religion and superficiality. A truly overlooked comedic gem.

16. The Box

Richard Kelly has no idea how to make a conventional movie, and I love him deeply for that. This is a wacky thriller that will make you laugh and cringe and scratch your head. I had an absolute blast watching it.

15. Drag Me to Hell

Sam Raimi walks the line between horror and comedy like no one else, and while this film is not Evil Dead 4,  it does have a similar tone to his famous trilogy. If you’re a fan of his work, you are in for a treat. If you’re not, I have a feeling you’re about to be.

14. Big Fan

The third act of this movie is completely daring, unexpected, and makes you really reconsider what writer/director Rober Siegel  is trying to say about this kind of obsessive personality. Patton Oswalt turns in a fantastic, nuanced performance. It belongs on a double feature with Vincent Gallo’s Buffalo ’66.

13. Up

Up takes a completely unexpected turn when it becomes an exotic island adventure, but it all works extremely well. It is laugh out loud funny and action packed, and there is no way that montage in the beginning will not make you cry. No way.

12. Funny People

Judd Apatow’s least critically lauded film also happens to be his most cerebral. I found it to be nearly as funny and touching as the classic humanist comedies by James L. Brooks and Cameron Crowe that Apatow is so clearly trying to emulate.

11. Anvil: The Story of Anvil

The must-see documentary of 2009, it reminded me of the great American Movie. Both films are loving tributes to two working class guys who try to follow their creative dreams and can’t catch a fucking break. Tragic and hilarious.

10. Avatar

The only movie this year you absolutely need to see in a movie theater and in 3D. To have a unique and gratifying movie-going experience in the age of Blu-ray and 50 inch HDTVs is a rare pleasure. Despite what some have said, the classic story is told with enough innovation and spirit to make it seem new all over again. Bring on the sequel.

9. Sugar

An understated, moving drama about life in the minor leagues for a young Dominican man. A great sports drama that refuses to adhere to sports movie conventions. It is a beautifully sympathetic look into a world we know little about.

8. World’s Greatest Dad

Would probably place higher on my list had it not been so clumsily marketed and reviewed. Unfortunately, the movie’s second half surprises were routinely spoiled, but despite this, it couldn’t ruin what is undoubtedly the darkest, most twisted comedy you’ll see in some time. A truly original comedy with a great central performance by Robin Williams.

7. Zombieland

A movie that completely surprised me with how invested I was with the characters. It’s not just a zombie blood fest, but a terrific coming of age story about the value of including other people in your life. Oddly enough, it would make a great double feature with Up in the Air.

6. District 9

While it could easily be described as The Fly meets Aliens, it is still the most innovative and original action film in quite some time. It also features a breakout performance by South African Sharito Copley that should make him a household name.

5. Moon

Sam Rockwell should be nominated for an Oscar (but won’t be) for his work in what will be remembered as a science fiction classic. The less you know about the plot, the more you will enjoy this tale of a man stuck alone on the surface of the moon.

4. The Hurt Locker

This episodic action film about men who disarm roadside bombs in Iraq is as nonpolitical as war movies come. That doesn’t mean it lacks depth. On the contrary, it is an astute look into the mentality of people who are able to do jobs like this. It shows the sacrifice of sanity it takes real life superheroes to put on the cape.

3. A Serious Man

In a year when some shitty things happened in my life, this movie taught me an important lesson: things can always get worse. The Coens explore their suburban Minneapolis Jewish upbringing in a darkly funny and existential tale of morality, family, tradition, and rock and roll. It is another great film by filmmakers who don’t know how to do anything less.

2. Where the Wild Things Are

An extremely challenging movie that, scene-by-scene, does not follow any sort of traditional plot structure. Its Lynchian, dream-like logic will frustrate plenty of viewers, but the more you think about the movie, the more you will appreciate it.

Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers have created a film that delves into the fundamental fears of children and adults coming to terms with their most intimate relationships. The monsters in the story, as well as Max himself, represent different emotions and different people at different times. The roles change scene by scene, which is why some people are unable to connect with it, but I think repeat viewings will make people love this movie. Time will eventually turn Where the Wild Things Are into a beloved classic.

1. Inglourious Basterds

I’ve already written 4,000 words on it, so I won’t say anymore.

The 20 Best Television Series of 2009

Meaning they aired the majority of their season – or the most memorable parts of their season – in this calendar year. I have yet to see Dexter’s fourth season, which I’m almost positive would make this list.

20. How I Met Your Mother (Season 4)

This postmodern twist on classic sitcom structure continues to work for me, mostly because of the endlessly charming cast.

19. Men of a Certain Age (Season 1)

A surprisingly restrained and pleasant dramedy about a group of friends dealing with life as they approach 50. It’s no surprise Andre Braugher and Scott Bakula are good in it, but Ray Romano turns in some really solid dramatic work and also happens to be darkly funny in a role that bears little resemblance to his sitcom character.

18. Saturday Night Live (Season 35)

Yes, it hits and misses every week, but that’s part of the fun, and that’s how it has always been, no matter what your nostalgic little brain tells you about whatever “glory years” were taking place when you were a teenager. It’s amazing how the show has regained its relevance. When SNL does a sketch that hits, it literally makes the  news. What other show can claim that?

17. The Office (Season 5)

While it is running out of steam, there are enough laugh out loud moments every week to warrant a place on this list. Ed Helms has become the standout.

16. The Soup (Season 5)

As the stupidest people in the world are given a platform on reality TV, Joel McHale and his crew are the only ones there to blow the whistle. If this show didn’t exist, I would feel 20% more lonely and afraid.

15. The Big Bang Theory (Season 2)

A classic sitcom in a TV landscape where few of them exist, Jim Parsons may have the distinction of playing the last great character in a laugh-track, multi-camera show.

14. Chuck (Season 2)

I haven’t even finished watching season 2, but I have every confidence it will end as it started – with an expert balance of action and comedy, reality and fantasy, and slapstick and satire.

13. Big Love (Season 3)

No other piece of television is as openly and directly critical of religious fanaticism. At the same time, the show does not look down on its family of polygamists, but instead asks you to look past your own prejudices and embrace them. The fact it works in such an entertaining way is pretty miraculous.

12. True Blood (Season 2)

A violent, sexy soap opera that is uncommonly entertaining. After leaving behind much of its political and social subtext after its first half dozen episodes, it’s now nothing more or nothing less than a solid entertainment.

11. Modern Family (Season 1)

It’s surprising how well it functions after only being around for half of a season. The cast seem like they’ve been working together for years, and the scripts are tight and hilarious on a weekly basis.

10. Parks and Recreation (Season 2)

It gets funnier and funnier every week.

9. Community (Season 1)

Ditto. It also boasts the best ensemble cast on a half hour comedy.

8. House (Season 5)

Amazing how they are able to keep reinventing this show and its title character, despite being a procedural in the truest sense of the word.

7. Fringe (Season 1)

The most promising heir to Lost that is currently on the air. Right now, it tends to have more stand-alone episodes than it does serialized ones which focus on the show’s mythology, but should that ratio reverse, it will quickly enter the top 5.

6. Sons of Anarchy (Season 2)

Really hit its stride in season 2, going from vaguely interesting show to must-see gritty drama. Anyone who misses The Shield will find some satisfaction here.

5. Breaking Bad (Season 2)

Gave us the single best hour of TV all year with the episode entitled “Grilled,” involving an old man in a wheelchair and a bell. It was as intense, exciting, and funny an hour of TV that I’ve ever seen.

4. Curb Your Enthusiasm (Season 7)

The funniest comedy on TV offered not only a Seinfeld reunion, but at least two or three episodes that are among the best Larry David has ever produced.

3. Friday Night Lights (Season 3)

Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton deserve to be in any conversation about the best TV parents in history. You probably don’t watch this show because you probably think you won’t like it. You’re incredibly wrong.

2. Mad Men (Season 3)

It continues to be the most aesthetically pleasing show on television.

1. Lost (Season 5)

The time travel story arch was used to great effect and set the stage for what is going to be a historic and satisfying final season. I have no doubts about this.

The 20 Best Albums of 2009

I wish I could have found room on the list for:

Crystal Antlers – Tentacles; Raekwon – Only Built 4 Cuban Linx 2;  Mayer Hawthorne – A Strange Arrangement; Slayer – World Painted Blood; Dan Deacon – Bromst; Passion Pit – Manners; Morrissey – Years of Refusal; Neon Indian – Psychic Chasms; Neko Case – Middle Cyclone; Sunset Rubdown – Dragonslayer; Screaming Females – Power Move; Them Crooked Vultures – S/T; An Horse – Rearrange Beds; Cass McCombs – Catacombs; Julian Casablancas – Phrazes for the Young; The Dutchess and the Duke – Sunset/Sunrise

The List:

20. Nurses – Apple’s Acre

A slightly more psychedelic version of The Shins, it’s an impressive sophomore effort from this Portland band.

19. Art Brut – Art Brut Vs. Satan

Art Brut will never make a record that sounds much different than their last, and that’s okay by me. Slayer and AC/DC never changed their sound either. They can keep making this record every couple years, and I’ll keep listening. I love these guys.

18. The Decemberists – The Hazards of Love

A fantastic concept record that really does work best when listened to as one piece. It is broken into tracks, but they should have just recorded it as one. As the themes and characters drift in and out, it is a nearly cinematic experience.

17. Dinosaur Jr. – Farm

Straight up 90′s guitar rock, man. May it never die.

16. Mastodon – Crack The Skye

Another concept record, but one that is somehow less decipherable than the Decemberists’. Though the overall story hardly matters with prog metal this captivating, the moments of imagery are enough to feel the emotions of what Mastodon are trying to get to. They are without a doubt the reigning kings of metal.

15. Built to Spill – There is No Enemy

Most people thought Built to Spill’s best days were behind them. They certainly surprised the hell out of me with their best album since 1999′s Keep It Like a Secret. Like all of their most successful releases, it nicely balances the jingly guitar solos with plenty of great choruses.

14. Yeah Yeah Yeahs – It’s Blitz!

The band made a daring move to incorporate some dance beats, and the risk payed off beautifully. You get the feeling that they could take chances like this for the rest of their career and never stop coming out smelling like roses.

13. Atlas Sound – Logos

Bradford Cox has made his most successful record to date, with a seemingly conscious decision to write more focused songs. Of course, the experimental edge is still present, and the mixture of the two sensibilities make for a daring but accessible record that suggests a great future.

12. Kid Cudi – Man on the Moon: The End of the Day

I guess you could call it backpack rap, and while it could also be described as a moody reflection on smoking weed alone late at night while analyzing your life, it’s amazing how breezy and uplifting it manages to be at the same exact time.

11. Matt and Kim – Grand

Irresistible keyboard and drums duo whose power pop will make you sing and dance and be happy forever.

10. Wilco – Wilco (The Album)

Like Sky Blue Sky, it all seems so deceptively simple, laid back, and trite. That is, until you listen multiple times and the layers keep unraveling until you realize their talent has no bottom.

9. Phoenix – Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

There’s not a person on earth who didn’t like this record. It was the perfect summertime pop album that has lasted past the fall and into the winter without every losing its luster or sense of fun. It’s an instant classic.

8. Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career

Singer Tracyanne Campbell has a voice that is full of pain and wisdom and hope and fear. Next to Neko Case, she probably has the best pipes in indie rock. The songs are sometimes melancholy, sometimes euphoric, but always emotionally satisfying and pleasing to the ear.

7. Handsome Furs – Face Control

Holy shit, I love this band. A husband and wife duo on guitar and synth, it is pure electro punk sex. It is primal and pounding and catchy and beautiful. It’s a testament to how good this year was that I liked six records more than this one.

6. Ida Maria - Fortress Round My Heart

Technically, this was a 2008 release, but it didn’t come out stateside until this year, so it’s eligible. Ida is a Norwegian punk rock princess that likes to cover Iggy Pop. Her big hit song was “I Like You So Much Better When You’re Naked.” What more do you need to know?

5. Grizzly Bear – Veckatimest

It’s hard to put your finger on what makes these guys so special, but I think the answer lies in the way they set themselves up on stage. They line up in a row, with no member taking precedence over another. It’s fitting then that the way they harmonize and allow their instruments to gracefully weave in and out of each other is how they are able to capture such uniquely intoxicating and beautiful songs.

4. The Thermals – Now We Can See

In what feels like a proper sequel to their 2005 masterpiece, the band expands their themes and move the setting from a dystopian religious state to the afterlife. While it is a record about what happens after you die, it is ultimately a sweet celebration of life’s little joys. None of that really matters though if you just want to listen to perfectly constructed three minute pop/punk songs for adults.

3. Japandroids - Post Nothing

It’s amazing what a big sound they get out of just a guitar and drums. Unlike the stripped down sound of a band like the White Stripes, this Vancouver duo sound like they are playing five guitars and three drum sets. Their closest comparison might be No Age, but with more melody and less allegiance to the lo-fi aesthetic. The album title is appropriate, because they don’t seem to care about scene or genre, but only about rocking as hard as humanly possible.

2. Girls – Album

Get over the Elvis Costello comparisons and you will discover a record that is exploding with a zealous love for rock and roll. Singer Christopher Owens was raised in the Children of God cult where he was not allowed to listen to secular music, and after breaking from the group, it is clear he was dying to get these songs out. Every genre-jumping track bursts with energy, humanism, life and freedom.

1. Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion

There’s a reason this album tops almost every list this year, and it’s not because everyone is drinking the same Kool-Aid. It’s because after  years of experimentation, Animal Collective have discovered a sound that incorporates all of their renegade energy into a package with enough entry points to let everyone with ears into their (drug filled) party (even if you’re not on drugs).

The result is the sound of the future. They are the new Radiohead not just because they have innovated something striking we have never heard, but because they have shown an intense desire to keep evolving in order to find new ways to blow our minds open.

The Decade

The Best 20 Albums of the Decade

The following records could have easily made this list given a different mood when I made it:

Art Brut – Bang, Bang, Rock and Roll; Panda Bear - Person Pitch; Band of Horses -  Everything All the Time; Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago; Buffalo Tom – Three Easy Pieces; Camera Obscura – Let’s Get Out of this Country; Dinosaur Jr – Beyond; The Futureheads – S/T; Jay-Z – American Gangster; Jimmy Eat World – Bleed American; The Format – Dog Problems; King Khan w/ The Shrines – What Is; LCD Soundsystem – Sound of Silver; Lilly Allen – Alright, Still; Limbeck – Hi, Everything’s Great; Modest Mouse – Good News for People Who Like Bad News; Voxtrot – S/T; The Walkmen – Bows and Arrows; Built to Spill – Live; Cake – Pressure Chief; The White Stripes – White Blood Cells; Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Fever to Tell; Less Than Jake – Anthem; The Killers – Sam’s Town; Iron and Wine – Our Endless Numbered Days; Girl Talk – Feed the Animals; Phoenix – It’s Never Been Like That; Fleet Foxes – S/T; Rilo Kiley – More Adventurous; Elefant – Sunlight Makes Me Paranoid

THE LIST:

20. Frightened Rabbit – The Midnight Organ Fight (2008)

If for no other reason than the album title is the best sex euphemism ever. But really, it’s the break up record to end all break up records.

19. The National – Boxer (2007)

Along with The Hold Steady, The National made Midwestern American rock cool again. Thank God for that.

18. The Postal Service – Give Up (2003)

The second best decision Ben Gibbard ever made was to not follow up this record. It could never meet expectations. His first best decision? Zooey Dechanel, obviously. By the way, my guess is Jimmy Tamborello is dying to do another Postal Service record. Dude’s gotta eat. In fact, my conspiracy theory is that Jimmy Tamborello is secretly Owl City.

17. Death Cab for Cutie – Transatlanticism (2003)

Speaking of Gibbard, this record is probably his masterpiece. The refrain “I need you so much closer…” could be the mantra for the decade.

16. Green Day – American Idiot (2004)

Yes, it was the return of the concept record and multi-movement pop songs from an unexpected place, but more importantly, it was actually a relevant political statement from a band with mainstream influence. Also, perhaps surprisingly, it still holds up.

15. The Long Winters – Putting the Days to Bed (2006)

A nearly perfect collection of indie pop songs that refuse to wear out their welcome. The earworms embed themselves into your brain, finding a permanent home in your consciousness.

14. Grandaddy – Sumday (2003)

Other than the number 1 record on this list, no collection better captured the fear of technology pushing us further away from each other in the new decade. Unlike that number 1 record, Grandaddy allow themselves to see more of a bright side in our future.

13. Clipse – Hell Hath No Fury (2006)

This vivid, detailed, funny, tragic, and vital tale of the coke trade is as important a piece of art as Scarface or Goodfellas. Its stripped down, no-frills production make it a timeless and raw piece of music that will live forever.

12. The Shins – Chutes Too Narrow (2003)

Oh, Inverted World may have changed Natalie Portman and Zack Braff’s lives, but The Shin’s follow-up is a tight, focused record that is as light as air but still packs an emotional wallop.

11. Kanye West – Graduation (2007)

West made four great records this decade, but this is the standout, with the most examples of songs that incorporate what Kanye does best: flashy beats, deadly hooks, unfiltered ego, and raw, heart-on-your-sleeve emotion.

10. Streetlight Manifesto – Everything Goes Numb (2003)

Tomas Kalnoky should be a more respected songwriter, but Streetlight Manifesto are stuck in genre hell, which means they don’t get the critical attention then so richly deserve. The band brags that people constantly come up to them and say that they are the only “ska” band they listen to. Indeed, even if you don’t like the genre, you will probably like this band.

9. Spoon – GaGaGaGaGa (2007)

Like Kanye, Spoon also put out four great records this decade, but their final one was the album where the band took everything they did well and did it on every single song from beginning to end. Because their records keep getting better and better, I can’t wait to hear their early 2010 offering.

8. The Thermals – The Body, The Blood, The Machine (2005)

A political concept record that understandably did not get a fraction of the press of American Idiot, but it is a better, deeper, more satisfying album from a three piece, three chord punk band who are making more cerebral records (that also happen to be catchy as hell) than anyone in the genre.

7. Alkaline Trio – Maybe I’ll Catch Fire (2000)

Another band that languishes in genre hell, even though they don’t need to. They actually sound a lot more like critical darlings The Thermals or The Hold Steady than they do the Hot Topic bands they get lumped in with. Had they started making records six or seven years later, this is a band Pitchfork and their readers would drool over, rather than dismissing them as emo for teenagers. At any rate, their sophomore record is a blistering, beautifully constructed pop/punk masterpiece with clever-as-hell lyrics that can make you smile and cry at the same time.

6. The Hold Steady – Boys and Girls in America (2006)

They join the Spoon and Kanye club for artists who put out four great records this decade, and choosing their best was a difficult task. But Boys and Girls in America is the key album in their career, marking the moment when they decided to incorporate some traditional song structures and more singing into the spoken word vocals. Somehow this decision made their lurid tales of youth, addiction, and faith not just more accessible, but also more artistic. A line from their next record, Stay Positive, says everything you need to know about how you should feel about this band:

“I was a skeptic at first, but these miracles work.”

5. Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion (2009)

The influence of this record won’t be felt until the early part of our brand new decade, but it will be felt in an earth-shattering way. In the same way every other band this decade tried to sound like Radiohead, so to will every other new band be trying to sound like Animal Collective. One of these lucky bands will be even bigger than the band they were trying to emulate. The drawing to be this lucky band will take place over the next two years and will be known as “The Coldplay Lottery.”

4. The Strokes – Is This It? (2001)

You have to appreciate where music was in 2001. For the most part, mainstream rock was dead. Yes, there were still strong genre scenes, but as alternative rock was brutally murdered by boy bands and hip hop, there was quite literally no representation in the mainstream of dangerous, sexy, good ol’ fashioned rock and roll. And then came The Strokes (and, to be fair, The White Stripes). It’s possible to imagine a world in which Is this It? never happened, and it is a world where Arcade Fire, Animal Collective, The Shins, etc. never showed up on the mainstream radar. It’s a world where rock and roll is still waiting for its savior.

3. Arcade Fire - Funeral (2004)

No other record did more to make people realize that there was a whole world of music bubbling under the surface of what they already knew. For some people, their music world was radio, for others, it was genre music. When the record industry collapsed, Arcade Fire was there to show people that radio and genre no longer mattered.

In some respects, they were merely the right band at the right time. But when you listen to these songs, it is impossible to deny their power. As whole worlds and modes of thought collapsed around us, these anthemic blasts of life and death remind us that something new would be built in its place. This is no more obvious than in the album’s linchpin, Wake Up, which is unquestionably the song of the decade.

2. Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)

In 2002, I was ready to hear Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Recorded before September 11th, 2001, it somehow captured the weird dream state we were in post terrorist attack. Personally, I was in the midst of my junior year in college, and with only one year left to go before my own little college world would come to an end, I had my first ever panic attack.

The world was changing and my life was changing. This record will always sound like that time period to me. All the mystery and darkness of the unknown future – all that angst and uncertainty – Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot captured exactly how I felt. It was a record I listened to constantly, and it never ceased to give me great comfort during a time when I needed it. To this day it is still a warm blanket. If the world were ending, it is still the record I’d want to listen to while sipping whiskey and watching it burn.

1. Radiohead – Kid A (2000)

I know it’s the easy pick, but it also happens to be the only possible choice for me personally. Before I heard Kid A, I listened almost exclusively to one type of genre music . When I put in Kid A for the first time, I thought it was a joke. It didn’t sound like Radiohead, and it didn’t sound like anything I wanted to hear ever again. I played it again, mostly out of obligation, and found myself slowly becoming obsessed with it. I literally listened to nothing else for a solid month.

Kid A taught me how to listen to music differently. It showed me that enjoying music wasn’t all about immediate melody and hooks. It taught me that enjoying music could also be about noise and texture and the build up and release of tension. It taught me about hidden melody. Basically, it taught me the meaning of the phrase “it’s a grower.”

I never before had an experience like thatwith music. When I listened to a new record I either liked it or I didn’t in the first two minutes. Is there something here I can sing-a-long to? No? Throw it out the window. Kid A taught me patience, and I’m so grateful that it did. Because of that lesson, I spent the next decade approaching new music with a completely open mind. It allowed me to break out of the small box that I thought enjoyable music could fit into. For that reason alone, Kid A is not only my favorite record of the decade, but it might be my favorite record ever.

The 20 Best Films of the Decade

It pained my soul to not include the following films on the list:

Snow Angels, The Kill Bill Saga, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Once, Knocked Up, Mulholland Drive, Memento, Ratatouille, Wall E, In America, Donnie Darko, Pieces of April, All the Real Girls, Cache, Elephant, The Descent, May, Punch Drunk Love, Spellbound, Ong Bak, The Wrestler, Into the Wild, United 93, Mysterious Skin, Hard Candy, A Prairie Home Companion, O Brother Where Art Thou?, Lost in Translation, A.I., Spirited Away, A History of Violence, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Princess and the Warrior, Children of Men, Changing Lanes, Murderball, and Zodiac

The List:

20. Rachel Getting Married (2008)

On the surface it’s just a shaky camera movie about a messed up chick attending her sister’s wedding, but its message is a wonderful one: no matter how deep your pain, it can be healed by love, food, music, culture, and family. It’s a movie that made me feel pure joy.

19. Joshua (2007)

The most underrated movie of the decade, Joshua is a fiendish twist on the evil-child genre. Director and co-writer George Ratliff takes out any trace of the supernatural or silly, and replaces it with dead-on psychological horror that prays on the absolute worst fears we have concerning the relationships with our parents and/or our children. The last scene is so satisfying in its revelation that it almost feels like a twist ending, but actually it’s just unusually great screenwriting.

18. Inglourious Basterds (2009)

4,000 words.

17. Apocalypto (2006)

If Mel Gibson wasn’t such a batshit crazy anti-Semite, I think Apocalypto would be regarded closer to what it actually is: an exquisite action picture that transcends its genre to become great art about how civilizations fall due to arrogance, fear, and war mongering. Its message may have been lost because it came from a noted conservative, but make no mistake, this is probably the most potent anti-war movie to be released this decade, whether Gibson meant it to be or not. It is also just flat out ass-kicking exciting.

16. Hustle and Flow (2005)

Director Craig Brewer is a major league talent. As his follow up film, Black Snake Moan, also showed, he has an amazing ability for milking his settings for all they are worth. Throughout these two films, he builds tension through character like few filmmakers can. The last thirty minutes of Hustle and Flow, almost all of which takes place between two characters in a bar, feels like something Scorsese could have directed.

15. Let the Right One In (2008)

In the midst of the massive vampire craze came a little film from Sweden that is the most sophisticated, frightening, and heart breaking of them all. In what feels almost like a Kubrick film, its breathtaking winter cinematography is used to highlight its message about the selfish nature of love and loyalty. Like the movie itself, the title is quietly brilliant. To whom is it giving advice? Him? Her? Both? Chew on that one after you see it.

On a side note, there is controversy about the DVD release of the film, which did not include the theatrical subtitles, but rather a dumbed-down version that has significantly lessened the impact of the film. I have seen side-by-side comparisons, and indeed, it is a shame. Magnet DVD is supposed to release an updated version with the theatrical subtitles, but I have yet to see it on store shelves.

14. Almost Famous (2000)

Cameron Crowe will probably never make a movie as good as this one. It is as personal as studio comedies come, and as Crowe lays his soul bare about his love for music and family, you can’t help but connect with the fifteen year old rock writer who is in over his head in every conceivable way. It is one of those special stories that somehow becomes universal through its specificity. That’s a neat trick.

13. Last Orders (2001)

The second most underrated movie of the decade, it chronicles the lives of four British friends who reflect on their relationships as they drive to spread the ashes of their dead companion. I realize it sounds kind of Lifetime-ey, but it is quite the opposite. It actually has a lot in common with classic male bonding movies like Diner and Beautiful Girls. After all, the term “bromance” may be new, but the genre is not, and Last Orders is one of the best of its kind.

12. There Will Be Blood (2007)

The performance of the decade by Daniel Day Lewis as Daniel Plainview, a classic movie villain whose journey comes to represent the unholy alliance between religion and and big business. In the battle between commerce, family, and spirituality, someone’s milk shake is going to get drunk the fuck up, and it sure as hell won’t be Plainview’s.

11. Shaun of the Dead (2004)

A comic masterpiece that never gets old, it is also a fully functional zombie movie with bloody kills and quality scares. I can’t think of a more charming comic duo this decade than Simon Pegg and Nick Frost. I hope they make 100 movies together.

10. Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (2008)

One of the best documentaries I’ve ever seen, it is as shocking and emotional as filmmaking gets. You will not believe how this film affects you. It starts off as a sweet story about a man who was loved by his family and tragically taken from them, it ends with twists and turns you will never forget.

9. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

A gorgeous film about lost relationships, it is a funny and brilliant poem to the value of our memories. It reminds us to continue despite our pain, and that some mistakes are worth making over and over again.

8. Talk to Her (2002)

The ultimate tale of unrequited love in our new century. While Pedro Almodovar made many celebrated movies throughout his career, this is without a doubt his masterpiece. It is a sometimes disturbing tale of two men in love with women who cannot love them back and the (often creepy) lengths to which they go in order to find intimacy. It is sad but often hilarious, and it goes places that will genuinely surprise you.

7. Before Sunset (2004)

The sequel to Before Sunrise (one of the best film’s of the 90′s), it follows our two heroes as they meet up nine years after their initial romantic night in Venice. Like the original, it features two people walking around a beautiful European city and talking about their deepest hopes and fears.  It might sound tedious, but it is not. These two films are endlessly watchable and entertaining. Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke are pure magic together, and there has never been a movie couple I have rooted for more. I cannot wait for Linklater, Hawke, and Delpy to pick up the story again in the next decade as the characters enter their 40s. You know it’s going to happen.

6. Oldboy (2003)

Probably the most shocking movie I’ve ever seen, I could not believe where it goes in the final act. It is so rare when you watch a film and you have absolutely no idea what will happen next. It tells the story of a man imprisoned for reasons he does not know, and develops into the sickest, most exciting, twisted story ever created about the nature of revenge.

5. Wonder Boys (2000)

A lighthearted comic farce about a bunch of writers drinking, smoking, fucking, and manipulating their way through a wintry weekend in a Pittsburgh college town. Based on a novel by Michael Chabon, the film understands how writers talk and think. As the teacher-student relationship is explored through a series of incredible incidents, the characters ponder deeply existential questions without ever becoming preachy caricatures of boozy philosophers. Instead, they are deeply flawed and unwilling to share wisdom because they have absolutely no idea what any of it all means.

4. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007)

The most beautifully photographed and scored film of the decade, it chronicles the Jesse James gang in its final months. Focusing more on the men who would eventually betray James, its subtext is never too hard to grasp. By the time the final act begins, it becomes abundantly clear that is the most insightful and tragic look at celebrity culture and its consequences since Robert Altman’s Nashville. It is a film that takes place in the distant past, but whose themes are very much about life in the 21st century.

3. City of God (2003)

A ruthless and unflinching crime thriller that rivals Goodfellas not only in terms of pure entertainment, but also in its willingness to search for humanity in places where there is seemingly none to be found. I remember seeing this in 2003 and barely being able to move when it was over. It was a stunning debut from Fernando Meirellas that he has not yet come close to equaling and likely never will.

2. You Can Count on Me (2000)

An absolutely perfectly written character drama from playwright Kenneth Lonergan. It is a beautifully subtle and well-constructed script that is expertly acted by Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo. The two actors star as an estranged brother and sister who are temporarily reunited when Ruffalo’s character comes wandering into town looking for money for his girlfriend’s abortion. The moment where the title is hinted at without ever being spoken is so beautifully restrained that it makes me cry like a little baby every time I see it.

1. 25th Hour (2002)

The most observant, intelligent, insightful piece of art to examine post 9/11 America came only a little more than a year after the event took place. On the surface, it is about a drug dealer (Edward Norton, in the role of his career) spending one final night with his loved ones before going to jail on a seven year sentence. Spike Lee (working with a script from David Benioff, based on his novel), is never one to be subtle about subtext, and indeed, the destroyed World Trade Center site is featured in the credits and in the background of many scenes.

The connection between Norton’s character and 9/11 are explored through conversations about responsibility and fear of the future in regards to his prison sentence, but are actually the same conversations people were having after 9/11. 25th Hour predicted where we were going as a country before we went there. In Norton’s stunning monologue to himself in the bathroom mirror, it captured every emotion we felt in the year after the towers fell. The film spoke to us of the price we would pay as a nation, and in its brilliant fantasy sequence near the end, it warned us that we could not retreat into some idealized version of America that we once thought existed.

Interestingly enough, Wikipedia tells me that Norton’s character’s prison sentence would be ending in 2009. God willing.

The 20 Best TV Series of the Decade

This decade in television will be remembered as a golden age much like the late 60s and early 70s era is regarded in the world of film. The advent of the DVR, On Demand programming, DVD box sets, and edgy cable dramas were all born in the past ten years and paved the way for highly serialized and sophisticated shows that gave us some of the best art of the decade. So while the rise of reality TV also happened this decade, there was a solid anecdote for those willing to look for it.

The List:

20. House (2004 – Present)

House has completely redefined what a procedural television show can be. Just when many smart audience members were beginning to get burnt out on all the medical dramas and murderous police procedurals, along came House to show that both of these genres can be character driven rather than obsessed with plot. House is the exact opposite of the Law and Order template, pushing its weekly central mystery into the background while allowing its lead characters’ struggles with morality, addiction, and interpersonal relationships to dominate the foreground. However, it does this in a mostly self-contained way, without relying on the soap opera theatrics of a Grey’s Anatomy or (to a lesser extent) ER. Hugh Laurie has created an antihero so multifaceted and intriguing, it is impossible not to be transfixed by him.

19. Carnivale (2003 – 2005)

Carnivale had a lot of similarities with Lost, only it was ten times weirder and more challenging. Had it premiered the year after Lost hit, it may have had a chance to survive for more than two seasons. The show tells the depression-era story of a young man with the power to heal and resurrect others. As the series progresses, we learn his power has an opposite, and he is the unwilling participant in an apocalyptic battle between good and evil. While there clearly could have been a third season that advanced the story, the second season finale is conclusive enough in its own odd way. In other words, you won’t be wasting your time with an incomplete story if you decide to catch up with the great Carnivale.

18. The Daily Show with John Stewart (1999 – Present)

The true test of this show’s importance was always what would happen when Bush Jr. left office. It’s true, John Stewart began his stint as host with one year left in Clinton’s term, but the show didn’t hit its stride until a couple years later. In the new Obama era, Stewart and his team have proven themselves willing to shine a light on hypocrisy wherever it exists, without compromising their specific point of view. They have shown time and again that their belief system has little to do with politics and everything to do with truth.  Its biting satire is the still the sharpest and most cathartic on television.

17. Breaking Bad (2008 – Present)

In only two seasons and twenty episode, it earns a spot on this list with its sheer ferocity and fearlessness. It is a dark, unflinching look into the abyss. The story revolves around a high school chemistry teacher turned meth dealer when he is diagnosed with terminal cancer. X-Files veteran Vince Gilligan has created a show that looks into the ugliest parts of human nature and laughs at all our attempts to define morality.

16. Friday Night Lights (2006 – Present)

Some people don’t watch it because they think it’s a football show, others skip it because they think it’s a teenage soap opera. Whatever the reason, it never found the audience it deserves, and the only reason it still exists is because it has been subsidized by Direct TV. Meanwhile, Friday Night Lights continues to be a dynamic drama that explores the lives of its characters with humor and sophistication.

15. Veronica Mars (2004 – 2007)

A refreshing and original spin on the detective noir genre, Veronica Mars gave the world the gift of Kristen Bell. Its first two seasons were stubbornly serialized in the best possible way, requiring the audience to stay focused and recall crucial plot information from weeks earlier. The third season abandoned this structure for the most part, relying more on stand alone episodes, but it never stopped being an engaging and charming genre mixtape that deserved a better fate than it received.

14. Freaks and Geeks (1999 – 2000)

Though it barely last long enough into the year 2000 to qualify for this list, the 18 episodes  produced were perfect bits of comedy and drama that set the template for Judd Apatow’s later film work. The cast is all familiar and the scripts never fail to come off as fearlessly autobiographical.

13. Dexter (2006 – Present)

Just as Vick Mackey elevated the television antihero, so to has Michael C. Hall’s Dexter taken it to a whole new level. Dexter is  a serial killer that the audience actively roots for in every episode. The show does not shy away from the dark side of Dexter’s mental illness, but he is given some soft edges to help us along. Every season has been a thoughtfully constructed piece of noir that never fails to surprise.

12. Deadwood (2004 – 2006)

David Milch created Shakespeare in the Old West.It was the only show that required you watch it twice in one week to understand what went down.  Ian McShane’s performance as Al Swerengen is a performance for the ages. Deadwood will be remembered as a wonderfully challenging and dense show that had at least one classic line in every single episode, including what may be my favorite line of dialogue ever:

“Pain or damage don’t end the world, or despair, or fuckin’ beatings. The world ends when you’re dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man — and give some back.”

Can you imagine Ian McShane’s face when he read that fucking line and realized he was about to become a television immortal?

11. Mad Men (2007 – Present)

The writing is very much in the Sopranos tradition where what is said and what is implied are two completely different things. In each scene, the surface has little to do with what we take actually take away from the moment. This makes for TV viewing with your brain on — it is a bonus that Mad Men also happens to be a feast for the eyes.

10. The West Wing (1999 – 2006)

No network television show in this era trusted its audience more than The West Wing. Aaron Sorkin’s dialogue never slowed down or dummied-up for the sake of mouth breathers who couldn’t keep up. Was it a liberal fairytale? Yeah, maybe. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t have great, truthful moments about our government or people burdened with too much power. It may have worn its leftism on its sleeve, but  it was relatively fair to the opposition, often giving voice to legitimate arguments on many sides of various issues.

9. 24 (2001 – Present)

The last handful of seasons have been mostly dreadful, but the strength of its first 3 (or maybe 4) seasons earns it a place in the top ten. The sheer excitement generated by the innovative storytelling technique, and the big brass balls of the writers to regularly kill off main characters was unlike anything I had ever seen on TV up to that point. It was also a boon for the TV on DVD phenomenon. Ask anyone who likes the show, and I can almost guarantee they will tell you they watched the first two seasons on DVD over the course of a few days.

8. Gilmore Girls (2000 – 2007)

You may think this  a ridiculous choice, but the mother-daughter dynamics that were shown in this show between three main characters (the ingenious and overlooked Kelly Bishop is the 3rd, staring as Loreli’s mother) was some of the best character drama you could find this decade. The cast was fantastic, the dialogue was sharp (but,  yes, very stylized), and its themes were consistently complex and moving. Do not let the WB/CW stigma fool you,  Gilmore Girls was a show that transcended its genre to become a piece of television that meant more to me personally than almost any other show that was on the air during its run.

7. The Shield (2002 – 2008)

Michale Chiklis’ Vic Mackey took the television anti-hero to new levels. Sure, Tony Soprano was a killer and a crook, but we rarely saw him pull the trigger, and we had the luxury of also seeing him at his most human moments with his family and his shrink. Vic Mackey didn’t have the luxury of those scenes. We mostly witnessed him at his worst — when he was compromising every moral standard with a shit eating grin that told us no matter what his stated reasons were, he was acting from his dark soul’s instincts.

6. Curb Your Enthusiasm (2000 – Present)

Larry David followed up what is arguably one of the best sitcoms in history with a show that has been regarded as the funniest comedy on television for as long as it has been on the air. David’s Curb persona was a fantastic metaphor for our collective mood this past decade: cynical, suspicious, obsessive, and over-reactive.

5. Six Feet Under (2001 – 2005)

Six Feel Under was HBO’s immediate proof that The Sopranos was not a fluke. With this story of a family run funeral home, Alan Ball helped HBO prove that there was an aesthetic and belief system that was now being employed at the network which promised to bring an endless supply of smart, original programming. Not only did HBO make good on this promise, but Six Feet Under enjoyed a run that saw some ups and downs, but ultimately redeemed itself with what has come to be accepted as one of the best series finales ever.

4. The Office (UK) (2001 – 2002)

The genius of Ricky Gervais helped lead the way for the triumph of the single camera, studio audience-less comedy. The Office’s slice of life comedy was sharp and focused, so when the dramatic elements were quietly introduced, it would blindside you. The American version of the show is fantastic, but as funny and sweet as it can sometimes be, it would never capture that perfect balance of dark humor and real-life emotions that were concocted over these fourteen episodes.

3. The Sopranos (1999 – 2007)

The ending of The Sopranos was brilliant, and if you don’t think so, you suck at watching TV. But despite how you might feel about that final scene, no one can deny that it was the most vital show of the decade. If it never existed, neither would most of the shows on this list.

The Sopranos changed the way we thought about TV. It used to be that you got a cinematic experience by going to the movies and a TV experience by staying home. After The Sopranos, it was possible not only to get a story as honest and deep and captivating as a well made feature film, but also to get an experience that was even deeper than a film, and in fact, was some sort of mutant combination between watching a film and reading a novel.

The Sopranos also paved the way for every single cable drama that exists today. Name one cable drama that was successful before The Sopranos.* Can’t do it, can you? For that reason alone, it will  be in every top five TV list created for the next fifty years.

*If you said Oz, bonus points for you, motherfucker.

2. Lost (2004 – 2010)

It’s a total accident that a show like Lost was able to become a major hit show on American broadcast television. It was perhaps the only moment in the history of TV when it could have happened, a six month window that allowed a show this strange to gain a mass audience. It was a combination of the rise of the DVR, TV shows on DVD, edgy cable dramas, TV blogs, and a killer marketing campaign that all conspired to create an oddly willing audience who embraced a heavily serialized character drama that doubled as an existential sci-fi mystery.

It was a journey that frustrated much of its audience, but that is only because it started off by gaining an audience who just wasn’t ready for what they were about to see. Some jumped ship because they believed that it was all just a rambling mess that was being made up week-to-week, and the authors had absolutely no intention of ever solving any of the island’s central mysteries. But those of us who knew better never missed a week. We knew that while, yes, there needed to be some stretching of the story’s mythology, that the nerds in charge of this series did have a final destination in mind, and the rich character arches and clever teases would be enough to hold us over until they were finally willing to show us their hand. Whatever the ending holds, it has all been worth it.

1. The Wire (2002 – 2008)

The Wire isn’t just the best television series of this decade, it is probably the most important piece of art to be created since the invention of moving pictures. Over the course of five seasons, creator David Simon and his team of writers examined in detail how institutions fail and why societies crumble.

Each season focuses on one specific element of Baltimore, Maryland, but also manages incorporate how this element is connected to everything else: the cops, the drugs, the dealers, the weapons, the schools, the politicians, the real estate developers, the blue collar workers, the journalists, the junkies, the living, and the dead. The Wire is a point-by-point outline about how all these elements affect each other and prevent any real progress from ever happening. The series shows us not only the  greed and the corruption, but also all the good intentions that get washed away by single moments whose weight no one individual could possibly comprehend.

This might all sound like a really great PBS documentary, but what makes The Wire the greatest piece of art in over 100 years is that it is also a magnificent piece of entertainment. The characters are vivid and endearing, the plots rich, complex, and satisfying. Simon, Burns and company draw on elements from Shakespeare, Westerns, and cops and robbers archetypes to reinvent the crime saga while also paying it homage.

If there is only one piece of pop culture you consume from this decade, it should be this 60 hours of television. Like all truly great art, it will change the way you think about humanity and society. There are only two kinds of people in this world: those who have experienced The Wire and those who have not.