Toronto, Canada

I haven't quite figured out why we measure the passing of time in calender years. It seems to be an interesting way for us to make the whole ridiculous mind blowing concept tangible.

That being said, it's a wonderful way for us to create best-of lists.

It's been an absolutely stellar year, one of amazing people and wonderful adventures.

Everyone's been piping in on their picks for "albums of the year", and this seems like my best chance....

As much as I'd hate to admit it, I think that when we look back at this year the MGMT disc is going to be the most remembered and the most representative of this year. "Time To Pretend" and "Kids" are instant classic singles... and although their live show is weak as can be, and although the album is full of filler (those two singles and "Electric Feel" notwithstanding) as a whole, it's the most interesting new work this year.

I love the Yeasayer "All Hour Cymbals" album (although I think that it came out last year).

People seem to hate it, but I'm a sucker for My Morning Jacket's "Evil Urges" disc. The Friendly Fires disc is outstanding and the first three tracks on it are on constant rotation in my house. There's about 20 seconds of Chinese Democracy that make me forget how much of a completely overdone meth binge it is. My favorite live show of the year was De Novo Dahl, who I saw twice and each time were awesome.

It's old material, but in the end I think that the 18-bit reissue of Faith No More's "Angel Dust" is the best thing I've come across this year.

My favorite single of the year was "Let It Rock" by Kevin Rudolf with Lil' Wayne. It's a perfect pop track, and is superbly produced. That "take me to new york I want to get away..." song was also catchy as hell but I hate it like poison.

I didn't see many movies this year. Perhaps this had something to do with my seventeen-seconds long attention span. I guess that the best thing I watched this year was this short film I ended up making it with these two really fascinating flight attendants on a long flight back from Taipei. Of course, few of you will ever see it and let us never speak of it again.

My favorite TV show in 2008 was Little Britain USA, although I'm still a sucker for episodes of Maury Pauvich on YouTube. You are not the father, indeed.

What do you think? Anything good to share?

Toronto, Canada

A beautiful December morning.

There's a moment where I think to myself... does the guilt I get from consistently lying to all my friends and family negate the overwhelming warmth I feel from getting showered with love and well-wishes?

Regardless.

A social experiment.

How many birthdays can one person celebrate in a year before people catch on?

My guess. Three.

In actuality. Four.

You see, every couple of months I've been quietly changing my birth date on Facebook. And every couple of months THE SAME PEOPLE are wishing me a happy birthday

December 4th was my fourth birthday of the year.

You may recall the excellent birthday that I had in August or the wonderful one in June.

I agree, the one in April was kind of lame.

I used to know some fairly stupid people who would spin themselves silly on birthdays screaming "May you live until ONE HUNDRED and TWENTY!!!"

Well, this year... in one year alone...

I did.

Toronto, Canada.

I've never quite understood how different decades have a distinct feel to them. It just never seemed to jive with me. And then this week happened.

Think about how people have looked back at the 1960s.

Think about the optimism and hope that time meant to people. Think about the great strides in human innovation and the shattering of the conventions of the past. Think about the open minds and free spirits. Think about the change.

It all starts making sense.

This is our 1960s.

The collapse of the traditional global economy has necessitated people to harness their creativity and spirit just in order to make ends meet. Communication advances have made it possible to unharness ourselves from our static lives and truly interact with others, everywhere.

We're no longer stuck in our cubicles.

There's an overall freedom of mind and spirit. Perhaps it's the fact that we now all have access to all the information in history via the internet? Perhaps it's the way that we all carry thousands of songs on our portable entertainment devices? Perhaps the plethora of pornography is responsible for some twisted sort of new sexual revolution?

Free your mind.

Our voices are our most powerful weapon. We become part of communities and activist groups, perhaps not in person... but through the Face Book. We are not afraid to express ourselves. We wear our colors on our sleeves. We can add those who we agree with and block those who stand in our way.

We redefine that which has been sacred. We leave our pathetic starter marriages. We become open to unconventional interactions. We thrill with the new ideas, the new ways of living. We marvel at our friends. The best and brightest forming our new social circles.

We are captivated by leadership who we actually look up to. We feel the power of youth.

It's a complete global movement. The rise of the creative class, indeed.

In thirty years, we'll be talking about 2008 like our parents talk about 1968.

Chicago, USA.

I'm not sure when it hit me.

Perhaps it was when I realized that this was the largest group of people I have ever seen in one place...

Perhaps it was when I noticed that the crowd was made up of every single type of person, from every walk of life....

Perhaps it was the complete lack of fear... the amazing vibe... the sheer honesty of the whole moment...

Or the idea that the every individual combined formed a collective that was truly greater than the sum of it's parts...

Maybe it was the gratification that comes from a payoff that was more fulfilling than anyone could have imagined.

But it hit me.

And I will never forget it as long as I live.

Phoenix, USA.

A barren dessert.

Millions of people. A significant drought of dermatologists. Empty streets, chain restaurants and gentleman's clubs. The valley of the sun.

I suppose I lived here when I was a child. I can't really remember it all that well. Either way, Phoenix seems to be known for three things. Hot weather. Cold people. John McCain.

The poor guy doesn't have a chance.

So I thought let's help him out. See, Presidential politics is all about how you market yourself.... and right now aside from the 'creepy mothball' demographic, the man is suffering.

An idea.

Make him hip again. Speak to his core constituencies in a way that brings out their memories of what's cool combined with items they use in their daily life.

So I made a poster.

God bless America.

Los Angeles, USA

"Hi there.

This is surreal.

Greetings from the Airplane Graveyard.

We're in the middle of the Sonoran desert and the planes keep landing. A 747 from hong kong just pulled up... A 777 from Chile.... The middle of nowhere. Apparently LAX is closed for a bit. Everything in the southwest is being sent somewhere else. Feels very nine eleven. I wish it was feeling a bit more seven eleven. I'm starving and there's no food left on the plane. Want potato chips. Want you."

A direct cut-and-paste from a text message conversation that I had several nights ago as my plane dove towards a random desert airstip airport east of town... running for cover as the naton's 3rd busiest aiport unexpectedly shuts down for a few moments.

Staring at strangers from all over the world through small little windows.

What is going on?

Chicago, USA.

The businessman listens aptly, his attention focused on every word out of my mouth.

"So, these beans... you say that they're magic?"

"Yes."

"Well how do I know that?"

"Look at them. Aren't they spectacular!?"

"I mean... they're ok...."

"You know... If you're not interested, I have people lined up for these around the corner."

"No! Wait! I'm very very serious about this opportunity! Yes! Um...What am I looking for exactly?"

"Observe the shine. Look at the natural texture. Can't you just feel their power? Ignore the tangible 'bean', concentrate on the intangible magical properties."

"They're amazing. I'll take five hundred."

"I only have three left. Don't worry. We can work something out."

God bless this wonderful economic circumstance we find ourselves in.

Toronto, Canada.

There's a curious social sphere surrounding film festivals.

A distinctively public and social festive environment dedicated entirely to celebrate the remarkably private and solitary activity of watching a bright screen in a dark room.

Common folk act like celebrities so that they can sneak into the private parties, which are really public parties that have to act exclusive in order to sustain the fickle interest of the masses. Meanwhile, famous actors and movie-folk are all acting like nobodies so that they can slip around undisturbed.

Everyone's pretending to be someone else.

Then, there's the slew of subjective awards.

Awards that are handed out even though it would be physically impossible for any group of people to view and comprehend and then compare and contrast the entirely of the 300 films in 'competition' over the ten days.

It's amazing ridiculous.

The iconic imagery of the red carpet.... The metronome of flash bulbs... the piercing screams.... the shiney shiney....the lonely psychosis of superfandomania....

A microcosm of "Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!" in a world of "please...please don't look at me".

Toronto, Canada.

A social experiment.

How many birthdays can one person celebrate in a year before people catch on?

My guess. Three.

The funny thing is that people who were actually AT MY BIRTHDAY PARTY less than two months ago are still wishing me the best this morning on, this, my third birthday of the year.

Fascinating.

You see, every couple of months I've been quietly changing my birth date on Facebook. And every couple of months THE SAME PEOPLE are wishing me a happy birthday.

The messages on my wall are wonderfully 'personal'... such as "Wow! Same day as me!" (Nope.) or "I always knew you and I get along because we're both August babies" (I'm not one. And we really don't get along.)

We use birthdays as a form of identification and as a secure means of checking legal age, social qualification and astrological sign.

"What is your birthday?" is the question that is generally used to differentiate similar people with the same name who are mistakenly on the no-fly list.

It's on those forms you hand in at customs at the airport. It's how people choose their lucky lottery numbers. When timed correctly, it's good for a free piece of cake at your favorite chain restaurant.

Birthdays are probably not the most static and secure piece of personal information.

(1) Who's going to prove you wrong? There's no real way to prove what DAY someone was born on.
(2) People generally have no memory for remembering occasions for which they were not a part.
(3) People like the positive feeling and feedback that they get when they acknowledge another person regardless of whether or not the reason for the praise is valid.

It seems to be a pretty serious social taboo to mess with your date of birth.

"I know that's not really your birthday."

Come on. Do you have anything to suggest that the date which I am referring to my birthday now is any more or less valid that the date I may have told you before?

Life goes on... it just gets harder and harder to blow out all the candles on the cake.

New York City, USA

"Pardon me sir, where is the Men's Room?"

The Men's room.

A euphamism if there ever was one.

It sounds like some fancy, exclusive club.

A place to negotiate contracts and debate the minutia of some professional endeavor.

Yes, you too can be invited inside this sphere of influence and prosperity.

Chicago, USA

There are two Chicagos.

Maybe three.

They exist at completely different Cartesian coordinates.

I can't quite figure out what made the pilot change directions, but we're clearly in the other one.

I strike up conversation.

"You've changed, Jim. You're a completely different person."

Perhaps that's because he is.

He has no idea who I am or why I'm talking to him.

He's staring at me like I'm a complete stranger. Which I am.

Nice buildings. Beautiful waterfront. Passionate optimism.

New York City, USA

He seemed like such a nice man the moment I got into the car.

"Hello Sir. Where to?" he asks in his strong Indian-tinged accent.

"39th and Lex."

"Ok, right away."

And we're off. The taxi rolls into action. Shoots down through the Village like Knight Rider. The poor driver is losing his mind. Swearing like a sailor.

"Fffffffffuckkkkkkkk YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!" he leans out the window and screams at a man legally crossing the street.

"FFFFFFFFffffffffffukkkkkkkkkkk YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!" at the woman in the Honda alongside as he swerves to cut her off, almost tossing her and her car straight into Gramercy Park.

"FFFFFUCKKK YOUUUUU!" to the left. "FFFFFUCK YOUUUUUU!" to the right.

Rollercoaster meets Bangalore meets Tourettes.

Holding on for dear life. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. Stop.

"Thank you." His demenour instantly shifts back to calm blue ocean.

I arrive at the restaurant where my friend begins to describe for me the New York social scene.

The way I understand it, here... everyone is a proverbial cab. Everyone's vacant light goes on every once in a while. There might be good fares, and there might be those that decide to leave before paying... but in the end...the whole social interacion thing is a truly temporary experience.

There are lots of nice cabs. They'll take you anywhere, anytime... but you're likely to just get taken for a ride.

Love New York.

Vancouver, Canada.

You can always tell who your good friends are.

When you're together, you never talk about the past.

Sure, you know it's there.

But it's not about that.

There's so much more to talk about.

This sounds like fortune cookie.

Taipei, Taiwan R.O.C.

Everyone is smoking.

The waitress, the chef, the cab driver, women, men, children.

Lots and lots of children.

Philip Morris himself would be proud.

I'm enclosed in a foggy glass cylinder 40 stories above the earth.

Does "smoking makes you die" not translate to Mandarin?

I guess it's a form of population control.

They could not possibly squeeze more people onto this island.

But, aside from that... it kind of reminds me of Canada.

A small nation of colonialists smack dab beside the most important nation on the planet. Shared language, shared culture, different values, more donut shops. Better health care.

A giant tower that was built to draw the world's attention but has ended up in second place.

Taipei is to Shanghai as Toronto is to New York. Smaller, more manageable.

Less variety, more consistency.

A cleaner subway system. A lifelong inferiority complex.

A love/hate fascination with the other side.

The true east strong and free.