(t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: #Hashtags!

Trending Topics, 2010

When I saw the trailer in the beginning of Planet Terror, preceded by the grainy “Prevues of Coming Attractions” clip and swashed by that yellow tint generally used to depict Mexico on film, I thought it would never exist, that it was just a Grindhouse in-joke between Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez. There’s no way they’ll let Danny Trejo be the lead in a movie, especially when he’s mostly been a character actor stuck playing Hispanic antagonists. Was I glad to be wrong! Machete is horrible—the violence is outrageous, the plot is ridiculous, and the all-star cast is laughable (introducing: Don Johnson!). But it belongs in the so-bad-it’s-good B-movie genre that receives a cult following for being terrible like Plan 9 From Outer Space or Snakes On A Plane. Only it doesn’t really pass for unintentional comedy because every single retro hyperbole in here is intended by Rodriguez. Additionally, Arizona passed that ridiculous immigration law around the time of its release, and I still think that the governor of the state got paid to do that just to promote the movie.

While everyone was getting tired of this Team Coco vs. Team Leno back-and-forth, Jimmy Kimmel swooped in and emerged as the big winner of the late night saga. He nailed the masterful Leno impersonation, staying committed to a character for an entire show, going as far as having Chevy Chase dress as Conan for an interview. And if that weren’t spectacular enough, he agreed to be interviewed on Leno’s show via satellite after that. It started as an attempt by Leno to show that he can take a joke, but he underestimated Kimmel’s quickness so he basically got awkwardly disemboweled in his own “10 at 10” segment. I guess Kimmel didn’t intentionally do anything to Conan, other than stepping his game up while Conan was away looking for a new network. Aside from the Leno imitation, Kimmel’s 2010 highlights include the “Handsome Men’s Club”, “Guillermo At Mardi Gras”, “Alternate Lost Endings”, “Jimmy Kimmel Live’s Power Outage” (where he taped an entire episode on a Macbook), and Pacquiao’s karaoke performances.

I’ve always been freaked out by identical twins. I imagine that all of them are like the twins in The Matrix Reloaded: inseparable, always using the pronoun “we” as opposed to “I”, finishing each other’s sentences. That's why the Vancouver Canucks’ Daniel and Henrik Sedin give me the heebeegeebees. They’ve been playing together forever, so they know exactly how to complement each other. Not only that, everyone knows that twins have a telepathic connection, and that makes them absolutely aware of what the other one is thinking on the ice. Just look at this fabulous goal, where Henrik knew precisely where Daniel was going to be without even looking. I suppose that it’s fair for Henrik to win the MVP in 2010 all by himself, given that Daniel missed 19 games due to injury. However, they both should’ve been honored equally. When awarded the Hart trophy, I expected Henrik to provide the same speech that one of the twins gave in The Social Network: “I’m 6’2”, 188 lb, I’m an elite offensive player, and there’s two of me.”

These days, when commercials are unmistakably good, they become viral in the ‘nets. Old Spice was so great at making notable advertisements that they had several that littered the information superhighway in 2010. Of course, there were the “The Man Your Man Can Smell Like” commercials, which were so everywhere that they forced Old Spice to make a Twitter account that answers everyone’s ridiculous questions. Then there were the lesser known but way funnier “Odor Blocker Body Wash” ones, which were like Old Spice side-kicking you in the face before you can even ask wtf. Then there were the Ray Lewis ones, which were pushing it a little, but they’re still a bit surreal. I’ve been loyal to Irish Spring when it comes to my soap, Gillette when it comes to my antiperspirants, and it will take more than a few hilarious commercials for me to switch to Old Spice. Having said that, if my brand was sold out for some reason, I might have to try Old Spice out so that my lady can swan dive into the best night of her life. P-P-P-P-P-POWER!!!

I find it completely dumbfounding that I’m PVR-ing LA Clippers games every time they’re on in 2010, considering they’ve always been the laughing stock of the NBA. But that’s exactly what rookie Blake Griffin transformed his sorry franchise into; an appointment-television team even when they’re still one of the worst in the league. Excited blurbs like this don’t do him justice because he has to be witnessed with one’s own eyes to be fully appreciated. So far this season, he looks like an android sent to Earth, whose only purpose is to dunk a basketball with reckless abandon, merciless against any obstacle. What’s scary about it is that he still looks unrefined, like a ridiculous athlete who doesn’t know what to do with his God-given talents yet. Bill Simmons mentioned in a podcast that he may in the future give us the greatest NBA highlight ever, which is a reasonable statement given that he already gave us numerous Top-10 worthy dunks of the year, like this dunk, and these three dunks that all happened in the same game!

I still feel like my way of living isn’t suited for me having an iPad. My laptop is satisfying enough to watch movies and TV shows, to read RSS feeds, and to check email, Facebook messages, and tweets. On the go, I doubt that there would be anything pressing enough that I would need to inspect immediately, and even so, I would think that having a smartphone would suffice. I’m sure that I would use a competent desktop computer when I do work. I suspect that if I do get an iPad, I would have to adopt a lifestyle that involves a lot of coffee house Internet browsing and airplane traveling; of course, that means that I would need to be addicted to Starbucks and take a considerable amount of vacations. Having all that said, everytime I see someone who has one, or everytime I watch those ADHD “iPad is” commercials, I realize that I want one so badly, even if I have no real use for it. In any case, I would just walk around holding it up to my head like an iPhone and pretend that my head has shrunk.

Maybe I expected way too much out of “Black Swan”. The haunting trailer just creeped me out when I saw it, and it concealed the fact that I’m not the biggest Darren Arnofsky fan in the world. I suspected that the plot was going to be a crazy hot person chasing after a crazy hot protagonist, like “Single White Female”; or, a story about an alien black swan bedeviling a performing arts conservatory, like “Species” meets “Center Stage”. Except, it turned out that it’s a psychodrama about how method acting can devour someone, how being dedicated to a role in a way that it emotionally transforms you can be dangerous. And it wasn’t exactly as fascinating as I initially thought it would be. Really, it's kind of like all of Arnofsky’s films, in which it dealt with a passion/addiction ravaging his characters; but, at least, Pi was about math, Requiem for a Dream was about drugs, and The Wrestler was about wrestling. I guess ballet wasn’t for me. Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis, two of the hottest females in entertainment passionately lezzing it out on screen though? Surely one of 2010’s finest.

I agree that rainbows are awesome; it’s a colorful affirmation that the world we live in is an immaculate place. I would suppose—since I’ve never seen one—that double rainbows are twice as awesome. However, if ever I see one, even one that is as lucid or as faultless as the one seen in the viral video that swarmed the Internet, I doubt that I would react the same way as Paul “Yosemite Bear” Vasquez. He sounded like he just climaxed all over Mother Nature! Can you imagine the ecstasy he would feel if he saw a tertiary rainbow, or a supernumerary rainbow? “What does it mean?”, he said. Well, Wikipedia states that it’s a double reflection of the sunlight inside the raindrops, which happens when the incident ray enters the prism in a 50-53°. Either that, or a farmer planted a handful of Skittles in two different pots, which resulted in two adjacent visible spectra. I'm glad that Yosemite Bear is able to use his popularity to get himself more exposure, by getting a guest spot in Jimmy Kimmel Live, by being featured in CBS News, and by signing on as the new spokesperson for Windows Live.

I was very cynical of all the strong accolades Sidney Crosby was receiving during the winter Olympics. Sure, he scored a couple of monumental goals in the tournament for Canada, but he was painfully unexceptional for the majority of his ice-time in Vancouver. Being in the right place at the right time doesn’t make you the next Gretzky. Perennially leading the NHL in goals, however, puts you in the running as the next great. His production in the tail end of '09-'10 season was overshadowed by Steven Stamkos’ meteoric ascent and the Sedin twins’ two-fold attack. But this season, he is the league’s unparalleled focal point, blowing all of his rivals out of the water. The Pittsburgh Penguin center has been ripping the league up recently, accumulating at least a point in 25 straight games, in which he posted 50 points. And although the Gretzky comparisons are still pure blasphemy—even with this staggering pace, he would only end up with 133 points after the season finishes, which is still eons away from Gretzky’s 212 in ’82—at least his achievements are indisputable now.

“The Suitcase” gave Mad Men fans so much: the death of Anna Draper, the widow of the real Don Draper; the figurative death of Dick Whitman, at least in Don’s mind since Anna’s the only person who genuinely knew about his real identity; Peggy Olson’s unofficial promotion from Don’s protégé to his colleague; Don’s nadir as he loses to Duck Philips via submission; and the revelation that Ms. Blankenship was once the “Queen of Perversion”. Most important though, it was the showcase for 2010’s best dramatic performance. The monologue about Kodak’s Carousel in season one may still be the better Draper moment, but “The Suitcase” is definitely Jon Hamm’s best overall work, one that would finally reward him with an Emmy next year (especially since Breaking Bad’s Bryan Cranston is ineligible in 2011). The absolute vulnerability he displayed after the call from California to receive the bad news he was expecting was remarkable. How befitting is it that Hamm’s best is seen in an episode set during the Sonny Liston-Cassius Clay fight night, the official start of Ali’s reign as The Greatest.

The song that inspired the dance is catchy at best, an all-percussions sparse production that is maybe a little too thin to fill me up. But the dance craze swept the nation, fortifying the tight-pants-wearing nerd uprising in hip-hop. It’s reasonably simple to perform; it involves a lot of leaning, knee bending, arm crossing, and the motion of wiping your hand across your head like you’re fixing your pompadour. It only took a couple of months until the entire world caught on: Chris Brown uses it to prove that he’s a harmless human being, the boys from the Jersey Shore were making fools of themselves on webcam, NBA rookie sensation John Wall was going all out with it in his player introductions, CNN’s Wolf Blitzer showed that he’s down with it, Detroit Lions’ Drew Stanton destroyed it, some guy’s dad made an instructional video. Dance crazes in general are a societal triumph. It’s a unifying force in the club, a communal enjoyment under the bright lights of the dance floor. If you think this is stupid, you must be a person that doesn’t like fun, and I don’t want to know you.

Who doesn’t love an underdog story, right? Rooting for the team or athlete who is persevering against all odds has always been more satisfying; it’s why I always hated the Yankees, Roger Federer, and Triple H. I don’t know if a fifth-seed of an NCAA Men’s Division I Basketball Tournament can be considered an underdog anymore—stranger things have happened in March Madness—but Butler was certainly an enjoyable little university to root for nonetheless. Butler was ranked #11 in the Associated Press poll, but if they didn’t win the tournament for their mid-major conference, Horizon League, they would’ve probably been a lower seed. They’re definitely underdogs against Duke, a #1 seed and an everlasting powerhouse from the heavy-duty ACC Conference. Even though they ultimately lost to Duke 61-59 in the single elimination final game, they were competitive in a game that no one expected for them to be in. If only Gordon Hayward sunk that last-second half court shot to win the game, that would’ve been the single greatest sports moment ever.

On one corner, you have 5’6”, from Hazlet, New Jersey, Sammi “Sweetheart” Giancola. Her then-boyfriend, Ronnie was creeping with other girls in the club while she waited for him at their Season 2 home in Miami. She suspected something was going on, but she didn't have any concrete evidence to turn the heat on completely. She desparately needed answers, and her Jersey Shore roommates were keeping their mouths shut. On the other corner, you have 5’8”, from Franklin Square, New York, Jenni “JWoww” Farley. As a good friend of Sammi, she thought it was her duty to tell Sammi about her cheating boyfriend. But because she’s also a good friend of Ronnie, she felt she had to do it anonymously, by informing her with a letter. The letter obviously angered Sammi, but for reasons unclear, she was angrier with her informant. She then found out that it was J-Woww who did it, and sparked by an argument started by Vinny and Angelina, all hell finally broke lose between them! It was the most anticipated fight of 2010, and it didn’t disappoint.

Sorry, dog lovers, but Michael Vick’s punishment was too much. I absolutely agree that running a dog-fighting ring is inhumane; I just thought that the sentencing (23 months in prison) was a little harsh, especially compared to what other felons got for crimes that were more serious (Donte Stallworth and his 30-day prison term for manslaughter). But it is what it is. Vick did his time for his sins, lost everything because of it, and had to work his way from the bottom to reacquire the superstar status he maintained before he went to jail. Recently, his career is rejuvenated as the starting quarterback for the Eagles, throwing rockets like he has a cannon for an arm, running around like he’s a fleet-footed rabbit. Everyone thought his team was in a transition year, but they’re leading their conference, all because of him. More importantly, he seems rehabilitated, remorseful, and humbled by his misdemeanors. He’s still the most electrifying player in the NFL, and you’ll miss out on him lighting up the field if you choose not to forgive him. I’m looking at you, Tucker Carlson.

Sadly I’m one of those “soccer fans” who only watch the sport every four years. But here’s what I gathered from watching the World Cup in South Africa: (1) Argentina’s Lionel Messi, even when he's not scoring goals, is better at soccer than any athlete is better at anything, (2) Spain can pass that Adidas ball around like they have five extra players on the pitch, and (3) vuvuzelas are incredibly annoying. These buzzing horns were so irritating that they seemed like a venereal disease for your ears; watch a World Cup game and the sound will haunt you for the rest of the day. Whenever we had it on the television, my mother kept looking out the window wondering if there was a swarm of killer bees attacking the house. However, it became such a tremendous part of the whole World Cup experience that I started to miss them. I once watched a game in a bar without sound and it felt like something was missing. ESPN’s Bill Simmons once equated the vuvuzela sound to “Pavlov’s dinner bell”, in which hearing them makes you automatically think that an exciting World Cup match is on.

It’s fascinating that people once enjoyed Survivor, the culprit for reality television’s inflation, for its unknown characters, yet its best season ever was one that involved their most familiar faces. It was amusing to once again watch Boston Rob apply his Godfather philosophy to control people, Parvati use her sex appeal to get whatever she wants, and Sandra fly under a radar long enough to steal the million dollar price. However, Survivor: Heroes vs. Villains succeeded for reasons far more than nostalgia. What I loved about the 20th season is that we watched experienced veterans of the game, people who knew exactly what it took to win it all, people who are familiar with each other’s strategies (probably not Russell’s game though because he came in straight from the season prior, which ended up being a huge advantage for his plans). These are probably not the best twenty contestants we’ve seen compete—I don’t know why they couldn’t get Ozzie, or Yul, or Todd—but nevertheless, these heroes and villains gave us a Survivor season that would be impossible to surpass.

The Walking Dead shouldn’t have worked. I just felt like every piece of art that detailed anything zombies related has been done already (there’s even a very entertaining zombie-themed guidebook). But when AMC debuted the show on Halloween, it was greeted with a resounding “yes” from the public. What separates this from all the other forms of zombie simulation is that this is a series. Zombie movies scare you for two and a half hours, the protagonists figure out a way to resist the onslaught, and then a happy ending arises (until the sequel anyway). The Walking Dead is an interminable nightmare, and it stays that way, hopefully, if Frank Darabont and the newly-hired writers of the show can keep the story strong for a few seasons. Even when the quality got a little patchy during its first season, it’s a brilliant spectacle of dark imagery and stories of grief. Horror TV series are usually difficult to pull off, since the genre is better suited for stories with quick endings. But, as someone with strong fondness for all zombie-related material, here’s hoping that The Walking Dead proves that theory wrong.

Seinfeld may never be duplicated ever, but this year, Louis C.K. came close to doing that, at least structurally, with FX’s Louie. Imagine watching a more vulgar Jerry Seinfeld, whom has contracted George Costanza’s misanthropy and perpetual self-hatred. Similar to Seinfeld, the series also features Louis CK’s underrated stand-up routine (creator of material that Dane Cook infamously stole), which is scattered throughout the show. But one of the best aspects of the show is how unpredictable were the scenes that depict his life as a comedian, making it unclear every week what type of story was going to be presented, what type of attitude or style was going to be shown. Some of its best episodes was when the plot didn’t even attempt to do any comedy and just showed how pathetic and uncomfortable he is as a newly divorced, single father of two, out-of-shape New Yorker in his forties, and that strategy creates a charming contrast with the hilarious stand-up routine it’s associated with. How he’s not a household name is a mystery to me.

Ron Artest has been a lot of things throughout his career: a one-time NBA All-Star, a villain of the league, a dedicated Michael Jackson fan, a punishing defender. He has always gotten an unfair reputation, written off as an effective NBA player mainly due to his excessive eccentricity. 2010 revealed to us that there’s a lot more layers in this onion wearing a Laker jersey: an entertaining web cartoon, an expert in NBA numbers, a lover of Filipino desserts, a proponent of mental health, a magnanimous philantrophist, a dodge ball enthusiast, a substitute host for TMZ, a hip-hop artist, an inspiration for art, a man that wears his emotions on his haircut, a citizen of Queensbridge, a family man, a clutch player, a wistful tale of redemption, a self-aware oddball, an NBA champion, and a mirror on which we see what fulfilling our childhood dreams feels like. I imagine that I would behave exactly how he acted after winning an NBA ring on my three-point field goal. And he’s not crazy. He’s a human being, working on life like the rest of us.

To the Filipino people, saying that basketball is an important aspect of Filipino culture is as common knowledge as saying that every meal you have should be eaten with rice. But it took a white visitor from New York with a Fulbright Scholarship to articulate it so well. Five years ago, Rafe Bartholomew was just an author and an unreasonable fan looking to write about basketball, but then he discovered in Alexander Wolff’s Big Game, Small World that Filipinos love the sport; little did he know how big of an understatement that truly was. Now, he’s fluent in the language, he can expertly play the game in flip-flops, he’s an avid follower of the PBA, and he has an honest book about our very complex country. What is admirable about Bartholomew is that he could’ve just researched everything he needed on the Internet or in a New York library, but he still went on and experienced the country’s love for the game first hand, braving the devitalizing humidity and the gross cockroach infestation in this new world he can now call home.

About a year and a half ago, while putting up MVP numbers for a lowly Toronto Blue Jays, Halladay asked to be traded to a contender before his contract ended. He didn’t want the only team he’d ever pitched for to lose him without getting anything back. Toronto tried, but couldn’t construct a fair enough deal. Yet, Halladay didn’t sulk, and he continued to pitch his heart out until the final day of his contract. For the 2010 season, he signed with the Philadelphia Phillies, a team that was certainly good enough to win the World Series (even though they didn't). And in just his 11th game for his new team, he threw a perfect game. If that wasn’t a big enough deal, especially in a year where we witnessed six no-hitters; in his first ever playoff game, he threw another no-hitter, only the second pitcher in MLB postseason history to do so. Also, Roy Halladay became the first pitcher in history to throw a playoff no-hitter and two no-hitters in one calendar year. If you know anything about sports, it’s impossible not to respect Halladay this year, one of the classiest and scariest people to ever throw a baseball.

I stopped watching Grey’s Anatomy a couple of seasons back, mainly because I just didn’t feel like downloading it when I had dial-up in the Philippines. But then on the Thursday night that the season finale of the show’s sixth season was airing, everyone in Twitter was throwing superlatives around when talking about it that I couldn’t help but tune in. I didn’t know anything about the main plot—I didn’t know what’s going on with Grey and McDreamy, I didn’t know who these new interns are, I didn’t know what illness Mandy Moore had. But then someone shot that chick that looks like Rachel Bilson in the head, and I knew right there that we were going in for a wild ride. I think it affected me a little too much; a shooter loose in a public place has been a nightmare of mine ever since Columbine (like, literally, it’s a nightmare I have at least once a month). Nevertheless, “Sanctuary”/“Death And All His Friends” was the most suspenseful episode of television I can remember ever seeing. Now I’m going to have to backtrack to find out what happened to Katherine Heigl’s character.

Thirty documentaries about thirty monumental sports events from thirty filmmakers celebrating ESPN’s thirtieth year anniversary? It sounds like something (t5!) would do, doesn’t it? If only I had ESPN’s connections and capital and reputation and national audience and so on and so forth. Now, they could’ve easily picked thirty athletes and talked about the qualities that made them awesome. But what made ESPN’s 30 For 30 documentaries fascinating is the way they approached each sports figure or event from an angle that hadn’t been really explored yet. Instead of examining Wayne’s Gretzky’s record-breaking seasons as an Oiler, Pete Berg explored how his trade to the Los Angeles Kings affected the city of Edmonton. Rather than go through Michael Jordan’s momentous achievements as a basketball player, Ron Shelton went through Jordan’s struggles as a minor league baseball player. It’s a spellbinding collection of tales of heartbreak, comedy, and glory, showing off the cultural and historical significance of sports in our world.

Unfortunate accidents and technical difficulties aside, the Vancouver Olympics was more or less a success. Every event had its share of drama and significance, but unless you have a daughter competing in the biathlon, you can’t disagree that the hockey tournament is the main event of the 16-day festivity. The rivalry was genuine, the intensity was unimaginable, and the moments and images were incredibly unforgettable: Jonathan Toews’ kicking the goal scoring off by pocketing a rebound after a persistent forecheck; Sidney Crosby botching a breakaway; Zach Parise tying it up with seconds left; You holding your breath until the whistle alleviates the tension momentarily. And if you’re Canadian, you’ll always remember that elation you felt when Crosby scored that overtime goal, amplified by the celebrating drunken sea of Red maple leafs around you. It’s not Game 8 of the 1972 Summit Series, or the 1980 Miracle on Ice, but it’s the best international hockey game I’ve ever witnessed.

I wasn’t at all on board when the movie was first announced. Really? A movie about Facebook? Is it going to be two hours of people updating their status? Then, I found out that it was written by Aaron Sorkin who, from what I gathered from A Few Good Men and Studio 60, can at least write engrossing dialogue. Then, David Fincher was reported to be the director, my favorite filmmaker back when I was an unworldly teenager. Then the trailer surfaced, a glorious piece of work all by itself. I went from thinking it’s ridiculous, to skeptical, to willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, to very intrigued. And then I saw it, and it was intelligently written and skillfully told; half Internet-era, revenge-of-the-nerds underdog tale and half American enterprise, greed-induced decline. Jesse Eisenberg—who is like Wario to Michael Cera’s Mario—was a casting triumph, perfectly portraying Mark Zuckerberg’s programming genius that has sociopathic and vindictive tendencies. Because of The Social Network's admirable forward momentum, I walked out of theater breathless, and gladly eating my words.

Viewers were unconvinced that Community deserved being called the best new comedy on television, but I doubt though that detractors still thought that after seeing “Modern Warfare”, the third-last episode of the show’s first season. The paintball episode is the show at its best—shamelessly turning the volume up on its usual overbaked pop culture references without compromising the season’s storyline. The flawless parodies in “Modern Warfare” works the same way the samples in a Girl Talk mash-up works—half the fun in watching it is in identifying the numerous action and horror film references they are using. What creator Dan Harmon and his writers are conscious of is that if the parodies aren’t connected to conscientious efforts at characterization, then “Modern Warfare” would basically become a thirty-minute Scary Movie TV episode. And they avoided that by advancing the Jeff and Britta romantic relationship, mainly by having them participate in a post-apocalyptic sexual encounter in the library. That awareness is the reason why Community is a sitcom that can’t be overlooked.

The NBA playoffs have been captivating every year, but the Finals have been surreptitiously anti-climactic, at least compared to some of the series leading up to it. Either, there was no past strife between the two teams to fortify hype, or when there is hype, there was not enough excitement during the series to validate it. The last time these two teams met in the finals in 2008, everyone knew it was Boston’s title to lose and the Celtics confirmed that by dominating the Lakers in five games. This time though, no one knew who had the advantage, and combine that with the fact that the two franchises had a legitimate rivalry and it’s the rubber match between the 2008 champs and the 2009 champs, every basketball fan (and non-basketball fans who were forced to choose a side) were tickled pink with anticipation. The series itself lived up to the extensive buildup: contrast of styles, unexpected heroes (like Ron Artest and Big Baby Davis), seven hair-raising games, and Kobe Bryant—much to my chagrin—justifying the Jordan comparisons a little by winning his fifth ring.

We are seven months removed from the show’s finale now, and every time I encounter a fan who was as invested in what was going on in the island as I was, I’m compelled to dramatically shout at them, “we have to go back! WE HAVE TO GO BACK!!!” Even though the sideways universe ended up convoluting the plot way more, and it didn’t really spend ample time filling in the gaps of the island’s history, and it didn’t really pacify everyone’s unanswered questions; the season finale still was a colossal tear-jerker for every viewer that devoted six years following all of these flummoxed castaways (and Others). And an enormous part of the reason why we got so misty-eyed is because, honestly, we know a show like this comes around not very often. Lost was a once in a generation drama series that had geek appeal and mass appeal at the same time, uniting people who obsessed about the plot’s enigma with people who were affected by the character’s heart-rending relationships.

I’ll spare you an entry explaining the “spinning top” ending because (1) I’m probably as confused as you are and (2) we’ll probably be here all day and it’ll take away from talking about how stunning the movie truly is. Obviously, Christopher Nolan deserves most of the credit, given that Inception was his “dream”. He found the exact middle of a spectrum that has David Lynch and Michael Bay on opposing ends, brilliantly finding a balance between mind-fuck plotlines and summer action blockbusters. Moreover, he did an admirable job modulating the surrealism of his dreamscapes, staying away from Tim Burton tricks while still keeping it visually stunning. Speaking from my own experiences, my dreams can inhabit screwed-up emotional territory, weird physical rules (simultaneous timeline was done really well), and feeble connections to what is happening in the real world, but they usually take place in mundane settings (unless I've been playing Call of Duty before I went to bed, in which case I dream that I'm also storming a snow fort). Regardless of whether or not he stole the idea from a Duck Tales comic, it’s easily the year’s best movie experience.

I know that I said in the intro that the entries in this list will only include positive things, so it’s pretty bizarre that the #1 pick for the (t5!) 2010 #Hashtags! list is the event that inaugurated the NBA’s axis of evil. It’s not a surprise that the NBA NWO gets a ton of heat (see what I did there?) from every crybaby living outside of Miami. However, if you’re a true fan of basketball who like seeing spectacular buckets, post-dunk posturing, and punk-you-out domination, you can’t help but get adrenalized every time you see them play. And although they struggled coming out of the gate, it seems like they’ve figured it all out now—knowing when to play them together, knowing which one to highlight, knowing who to surround them with. The Heat may still not be the best team the NBA, but you can tell that they’re only a couple of minor pieces away from getting there.

Around the time of the Lebron’s The Decision, my infinitely awesome friend Lucas retweeted a tweet that went a little something like “Sorry, I'm new to this medium. Is this some kind of Twitter game where everyone suddenly pretends 2 give a crap abt basketball?” That precisely summarized what went down while King James chose a new monarchy. Everyone, even those who had never seen LeBron James dunk a basketball, had an opinion, had a rooting interest, had something to say. The world stopped, and it wasn’t going to move until after he announced what city he was going to play basketball for.

The Decision, in reality, is a huge public relation catastrophe for Lebron James; for Cleveland, it was the equivalent of watching your high school sweetheart have a threesome with two pornstars. But everyone still tuned in to hear him say that he’s “taking his talents to South Beach” because his choice would uncloak what truly is important to him. By picking the Heat, it revealed that he couldn’t give a shit about legacy or loyalty as long as he’s having fun executing fast break drills with his best friends of forever, Wade and Bosh. Because of The Decision, I'm getting an opportunity to witness the most inexorable lineup since the ’96 Bulls, so to judge his decision negatively would just be ungrateful.