#20: Even Losers Get Blackberries

The Original Blackberry weighed in at like 7 pounds. It had email and a screen big enough to house an IKEA Ektorp. And that was pretty much it. But that didn't stop you from putting it on the table at Nobu next to your actual cell phone, for all the world to see.

One day while you were drinking a Clearly Canadian you were shocked to see your assistant's boyfriend furiously typing away on something that didn't flip open like a kickstand. You knew this moment was coming. It was finally here. People were getting averageberries. And what's worse, their Abercrombieberries did more than the prickberry Bain gave you. They even made phone calls.

Smaller, more powerful, cheaper mallberries started showing up on the street. They infiltrated the chattering classes, the slums, and soon, teenagers. It wasn't long before every MetroPCS on the block was slinging rockberries.

Soon every Brandy, Buzz, and Xander could get updates on clearance blowouts at (gulp) Hot Topic, Yellowcard concert presales, and Thirsty Thursdays at Minor League baseball games with their slutberries and Clarksonberries.

Gregberries and Claireberries from down the streetberries brought them over for potluckberries. Kids talked on theirs over their morning Frankenberries. Every yoberry and broberry was talking on their Jagerberry in Burberry at the barberry.


"I have a blackberry."
"Me too."
"It's amazing how many different ways you can communicate on it."
"It is."
"Yeah."
"Uh huh."
"Well cool, I'm gonna run."
"Yeah. Cool. Talk to you later."

#19: Flipping Houses

"Hello, we're the nice new Hispanic family that moved down the street. You can tell that we're non-threatening because we dress exclusively in Canadian tuxedos."

In the aughts, houses were like prostitutes. Sure, you had your bottom bitch. But then you had to get some other girls to work for you if you ever wanted to get off the corner you were on. And thus, "flipping houses" was born.

"Did you hear Gulliver was shot in his new '20s era Craftsman-style bungalow down near the Zoo?"
"Yes. I heard it was an up-and-coming neighborhood. Isn't there a really good shabu shabu place down there?"
"Yes, there is. Really good."

The craze was deepened by shows like "Trading Spaces" where couples donning primary colors redecorated their friends' homes. They incorporated inventive homey touches like painting, sprucing up, and moving a couch from one side of the room to the other. These were the sorts of things that passed for creativity in the aughts. It was a slow decade.

#18: Using A Picture Of Yourself Surrounded By A Few Bitches As Your Facebook Profile Picture

In the aughts, there was no better way to spruce up your Facebook Profile than including a picture of yourself accompanied by some fine-ass bitches. It didn't matter if you knew the choice pieces of ass in question or if the sum total of your interactions with these broads was limited to the aforementioned picture itself, communicating to everyone the fact that you hang out with straight dime-pieces on the reg was what mattered, bro.


"Did you see Brad's new profile pic?"
"Yeah, who are those girls he's with?"
"I don't know, probably just a couple of sluts he met downtown."
"Yeah, they did look like total sluts."
"Yeah."
" . . . . . . . "
" . . . . . . . "
"Do you think that someday maybe we'll be in some asshole's profile picture?"
"Yeah! Of course! Don't worry, it'll happen for us sooner or later!"
"I sure hope so."
"Yeah. Yeah, me too."
" . . . . . . . "
" . . . . . . . "
"So, you wanna go see New Moon again?"
"Heck yes I do!"
(high fives)

#17: The Rise of Mixed Martial Arts

The aughts were truly a wonderful time to be a latent homosexual. What with the social acceptability of metrosexuality and the near ubiquity of Hollister clothing stores, never before had it been easier for a man to hide his true sexual orientation. But of all of these, perhaps the greatest boon to the covertly queer was the meteoric rise in popularity of mixed martial arts fighting competitions. Finally, the closeted gay man had a sport to call his own. Other than lacrosse, I mean.

MMA really had it all. Besides the obvious pleasures of watching near naked men, their perfectly sculpted bodies glistening with sweat, writhing on the ground with limbs entwined, engaging in the savage ballet that is hand to hand physical combat... You know, besides those pleasures, MMA also provided an outlet for the frothing rage that builds up in one's mind after years and years of hiding one's true sexual proclivities. Additionally, from Affliction tees to tight spandex TapouT skivvies, MMA fandom comes with its own unique wardrobe. What more could a closeted homosexual want? I mean, besides feeling safe enough to reveal his true self or living in a country whose government doesn't seek to deny him rights at every turn?


"I am very much enjoying watching this mixed martial arts match with you, Bryce."
"And I you, Marco."
"Oh! Look at that! A near-perfectly executed rear naked choke!"
"Indeed. It was, in a word, exquisite."
"Bryce?"
"Yes, Marco?"
"I want you to know that I definitely do not have a boner right now."
"I also do not have a boner. Surely, my penis has never been more flaccid."
"Yes, of course. More brie?"
"Please, but I'm afraid we're all out of the toasted rosemary artisan bread."
"Not to worry, I have another loaf in the kitchen. I'll just go get it now."
"Bryce?"
"Yes, Marco?"
"I . . . um . . . . I ---"
"Shhhhhh. Sweet, dear Bryce. Say no more for nothing needs to be said."
"Of course. I'll just go get that bread."
"And I will be here, patiently waiting your return."

#16: Under Armour

The aughts were the sweatiest decade of all (minus the Roaring twenties, and of course, 2300 BC). Liberals will tell you it's because of global warming. Conservatives will tell you it's because of the liberals' tofuvolvofarts. But it is this humble narrator's opinion that the departure from Rollerblading to jogging meant less windshear and thus greater inertia of sweat. Enter Kevin Plank, a football player for perhaps the most irrelevant Division I NCAA football program with an amphibious mascot, the University of Maryland. His business started modestly, but his fate was soon inextricably (and inexplicably) intertwined with that of Jeff George, who wore one of their formfitting shirts on the cover of USA Today. Under Armour's fate was sealed.

Soon pro athletes were wearing them on the field and off to run away from the cops. Liberals wore them to this really great little bagel shop that's only open on Saturdays from 10-1. Conservatives wore them in Church and also in Church.

"Hello, would you like to go to a local brasserie?"
"Yes, please permit me to change first."
"But you are appropriately outfitted.
"Aye, verily. But I am susceptible to the meatsweats*."

*--This blog post is dedicated to the millions of men and women who die of meatsweats every year.

#15: The Death Of Cynicism

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Throughout the latter half of the aughts, the tide was turning. After suppressing all forms of earnest emotion throughout the previous two decades, young people were finally beginning to tire of appreciating things ironically and began appreciating them post-ironically, or for the truly advanced, simply appreciating them. Yes, irony and cynicism were in their death throes, but without someone to finish them off, they may have been allowed to fester beneath the zeitgeist only to return one day and flourish like never before.

Enter our pale knight of justice: Conan O'Brien. Sired in the wealthy suburbs of Boston by a lawyer and a doctor, he forged his razor sharp wit in the halls of Harvard University. In what was seemingly his and our darkest hour, this flame-haired champion rode into our homes, informing the world that the road to success was not merely open those entitled few who happened to be born into extremely favorable circumstances, but was built anew by each man with the asphalt of hard work and the yellow lane dividers of kindness.* And thus cynicism received its death blow. The monster had finally been slain.

Since then, the authors of this blog have been working tirelessly to resurrect it.

Conan: "All I ask of you, especially young people . . . is one thing. Please don't be cynical. I hate cynicism -- it's my least favorite quality and it doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you, amazing things will happen."

Audience Member 1: ". . . . Well that was lame."

Audience Member 2: "Or was it?"

Audience Member 1: (awed silence)

*Technically this happened 22 days after the aughts ended, but you'd have to be a real cynic to point that out.