I question the benefits and drawbacks of "best of" lists every time December rolls around and various media outlets begin to release their picks for the top films, albums, books, bundt cake recipes, etc. of the year (and, as 2010 approaches, the decade). I'm kind of indifferent when it comes to lists like these. I understand the importance of placing something in context and noting its historical significance, but I kind of feel like rankings reduce works of art that mean something different to every person — works that provoke, engage and entice — to mere numbers. (I have the same issue with awards shows for turning culture into a blood sport, but that's a whole different column.)
Not to bite the proverbial hand that feeds me, but I wasn't thrilled with the Daily Arts editors' picks for their "Best of the Decade" list from Thursday's Weekender. Some of the choices were on−point, but a decent share were cringe−inducing (The Killers? Seriously?). That's the danger — and kind of the whole point — of releasing an entirely subjective list of one's personal preferences as the "best" of anything: Someone will undoubtedly disagree with the selections and the rankings (what makes the 7th best better than the 8th?). I admire the editors for putting their picks into the public domain for scrutiny, but I just don't have the balls. Instead, I've composed a non−ranked list of my favorite artistic experiences from the past decade. Here are the noteworthy personal moments that stick out.
My first concert: The Shins and Belle & Sebastian co−headlining at the Hollywood Bowl. I was barely 13 and carrying a bit more baby fat than I was willing to admit. I begged my dad to let me go, and he caved.
The stuff I'm ashamed to have once loved: I used to play John Mayer's "Room for Squares" (2001) in a constant loop on my Walkman. "Lizzie McGuire" was another obsession; I totally related to Gordo, the nebbish Jew.
My first R−rated movie: My best friend and I snuck into "Closer" (2004) at the Sherman Oaks Galleria. Julia Roberts mentioned blowjobs, and I had no clue what she was talking about. I remember feeling wildly uncomfortable, but very intrigued.
The moment I realized that music could actually, like, mean something: Radiohead's "Kid A" (2000), with headphones, eyes closed, lying on my bed. That's what dreams are made of.
The television show that made me want to be funny (though God knows I never will be): I caught up on "Arrested Development" on DVD a while back and couldn't stop shouting "Ann−yong!" at random intervals for a significant period of time. Maeby? Shirley!
The movies that gave me nightmares: I remember the lights coming up in the theater after "No Country for Old Men" (2007) and noticing that my nails had punctured my skin from how tightly I had clenched my fist out of utter horror. Same thing happened during "The Dark Knight" (2008) — all three times I saw it. I also couldn't sleep for a few nights after "Zodiac" (2007), a shockingly underrated masterpiece.
Why I'm looking forward to 2010: I just want to see how some of the great artistic achievements of the aughts are followed up. How can Paul Thomas Anderson top "There Will Be Blood" (2007)? What's next from The xx, the spanking−new band that, to extraordinary effect, combines influences like The Cure and Aaliyah? And who or what else is out there, ready to entertain and enthrall? Bring on the new decade
--
Derek Schlom is a freshman who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Derek.Schlom@tufts.edu.
