At Culture Blues, we've developed a bit of a reputation as caustic, angry, maybe a little cynical. That's fair. But really, we're a bunch of softies. What follows is a list of the things that broke our hearts this decade or, in a few cases, lifted our spirits. Some of it is funny, some of it not at all. As one final note, at the end of this list you might wonder why we don't acknowledge any of the many folks who died this decade. We've got another list planned for them, don't worry. Anyway - get your tissues ready, things just got morbid.

Contributors:  Giovanny Caquias, Jeff Hart, Jeremiah White, John Burgman, and Zach Falk

(10) Not Penny's Boat

We here at Culture Blues try to not cry at movies, or while watching television dramas. It is not that we are against such displays of emotion, we just like to maintain a certain modicum of composure while we are being entertained; we save the tears for sports or when something REALLY hurts. You will notice that we used the word "try" in the opening sentence. Every once and a while there are moments that are so overwhelming that the tears cannot be denied; case in point, the finale of Lost's third season. At this point in the show the shit is truly starting to hit the fan and plots are exploding like bombs all over the island, but the most gripping sequence without a doubt involved Charlie Pace who swam down to an underwater locale in order to aid what his fellow survivors thought was a rescue. It turned out it was not, and things went from bad to worse as a crazy (and somehow still alive) Russian used a grenade to blast out the window of the room Charlie was in, causing it to flood. In a final act of heroism Charlie closed the door and sealed the flood to save his friend Desmond from drowning, keeping it together enough to write a message on his hand and press it up against the porthole window of what is now his coffin. The piano swelled, the water rose, and the tears fell. (GC)

(9) The Death of CDs

When all is said and done, the past 10 years will go down in history as the iDecade; iPhones and iPods were marketed (and consumed) more like toys and trendy fashion objects, and less like the technological accessories for adults that they actually are. The side effect of this and the appurtenant mp3 and digital revolution was the death of CDs as we knew them.  Sure, they’re still around—but the medium is merely treading water as the music industry continues to evolve and revolutionize how we listen to—and purchase—songs. For the masses, gone are the days of buying a CD with half of the songs shrouded in mystery (Will any of them be as good as the hit radio single?).  Gone are the days of liner notes. Gone are the days of album art.  Hell, gone are the days of having stores that sell (Sam Goody, anyone? Virgin Megastore?).  We here at Culture Blues aren’t against progress, we just don’t know what the hell to do with all of our thousands of CDs now. Anybody wanna buy my slightly scratched, Japanese imported Gin Blossom's New Miserable Experience? (JB)

(8) The Red Ring

I just got off the phone with my girlfriend, and she totally doesn't understand. She was all like "Can't you just go to Best Buy in the morning?", and "You didn't even cry at your grandfather's funeral!"... She's right... But, of course, I have another grandfather. It all went down about an hour ago; I was busy racking up my 200th hour of Elder Scrolls when tragedy struck my home. (Sigh) My fucking Xbox j-j-just. My Xbox j-j-j (sob). My god damn Xbox just red ringed. My once proud console who brimmed with life and possibility has been snuffed out, taking with it my escape from this wretched reality. Sure Microsoft will send me a new machine, but what am I supposed to do till then? Read?... Feign interest?... Go to work? Fuck me!!! The worst part of this whole thing is, while I wait for my new baby to be delivered to me... Punks like you are out there fragging and earning achievements. Oh shit... How am I supposed to play my DVDs now? (GC)

(7) The XFL

In 2001 we cried for the demise of Vince McMahon’s innovative brainchild – The XFL. In the past decade we’ve watched as the NFL has become a product selling powerhouse, stripped of personality, and utterly devoid of ultraviolence. A moment of silence, please, for the genius concepts of opening scrambles and no PAT kicks. For the New York/New Jersey Hitmen and the Memphis Maniax. For personalized jerseys. We miss you, He Hate Me.  (JH)

(6) Y: The Last Man #60

From 2002 through 2008, writer Brian K Vaughan and artist Pia Guerra created pretty much the greatest comic book of all time. Y:  The Last Man told the tale of Yorick Brown and his pet monkey Ampersand, the last two male mammals alive on Earth. What seems like the beginning of an adolescent male’s pornographic fantasy is so much more; a thrilling adventure story, a comic masterpiece, a brilliant piece of social commentary. Yorick was one of the most nuanced and lovable heroes that comics, nay literature, has ever known. It is impossible to discuss Alas, the final issue of Vaughan’s seminal work without spoiling major events for the uninitiated. Suffice it to say, as an aged Yorick reflects on his time as the Earth’s alpha male, there are lines of dialogue and full page spreads that are burned into the brain, striking an emotional chord that comic readers once thought impossible. (JH)

(5) The 22nd Amendment

Tears of hope rained down upon the nation on November 4, 2008. Sure, Obama was partially responsible for this teary outpour, but we can honestly say it was the 22nd Amendment behind those euphoric tears. If they had ushered up a giant cucumber to claim victory on that Chicago stage, it would not have minimized the happiness nor threatened its place on this list. Though a McCain election might have... (ZF)

(4) Cyril O'Reily

The entire run of Tom Fontana’s Oz is a harrowing and horrific experience that leaves viewers feeling dirty. But nothing is more difficult to watch than man-child Cyril O’Reily’s execution. Grinning like a child even as he’s strapped into the electric chair, O’Reily’s demise is Fontana’s most scathing comment on the issue of capital punishment in a series overflowing with them. “Maybe we’re all retarded,” laments narrator Augustus Hill. But forget about the political undertones for a moment. The most difficult sequence to watch occurs the night before the execution, when Cyril’s brother, the devilish sociopath Ryan O’Reily is allowed to say farewell to his brother. Basically, the full force of men uncontrollably crying is unleashed, pummeling a softness viewers thought long hardened by the overwhelming violence of Oz. And if that doesn’t crush you, the demonstration by Cyril’s inmates, pounding in unison on the plexiglas walls of their cells certainly will. It’s devastating.  (JH)

(3) Breaking of the Curse

Few things mean as much to the irrational and simple mind of a man as sports do. Fandom is an all-consuming obsession that, over time, begins to cloud every aspect of the male psyche. People even begin to believe in curses; just ask the residents of Boston. For generations, fans of the Red Sox suffered under the belief that their team was cursed as a result of trading away the games most prominent player to the arch rival New York Yankees. That suffering was my ambrosia... As a young man I would revel in going to the old stadium and yelling out "19-18" at the top of my lungs, in order to twist that knife a little further into their hearts. All of that changed on October 20th 2004, when the Sox became the first team to come back from a three game deficit to win the ALCS. I knew that Boston would murder the Cardinals in the Series. I was also aware of the fact that the Curse was broken, and it was at the expense of my heroes. After Aaron Boone... I thought it would last forever. (GC)

(2) The Raping of our Childhood

Somewhere in my psyche, my  younger self is huddled in a corner with knees pulled to chest sobbing quietly. The ghosts of my past were out and about this decade. The heroes and villains and comedic relief that informed my early years crept into the multiplex. It’s odd to get protective of cartoons that were literally commercials for toys (I always thought my mother meant this as a philosophical statement), but the G.I. Joe and Transformers movies reminded me of the source material in only the most superficial ways. The Dukes of Hazzard was reinvented as a frat boy comedy (possibly, I didn’t actually see it). They brought Indiana Jones back for a neutered, thoroughly stupid new adventure. And yes, George Lucas desecrated his greatest contribution to pop culture with a brand new Star Wars trilogy that nobody likes (seriously, not one person). In the process, he made me feel a little bit stupid for having watched the original Star Wars movies so many times. After the cynical, anti-hero filled 90s, real life in this decade was filled with uncertainty and fear. And the corporations responded by trying to reassure us that heroes still existed, that things were still black and white. All they really did was make me realize that the cherished memories of my childhood don’t belong to me. They are moneymaking schemes that have lasted into my adulthood and will surely outlive me. (JW)

(1) 9/11

I have cried at various times in my life; out of happiness or due to sadness, but only once out of true hopelessness. On the morning of September 11th, 2001, I watched in horror as the city that I love suffered the loss of two of its most iconic sons. I had lived through the previous attack on the WTC, and remember distinctly how fictional it felt. Sure, some bombs went off, but the buildings still stood, we were ok. It barely took two hours for the buildings to fall, this time, as gravity proved itself inexorable. Thousands of lives were lost that day, a tragedy the likes of which we've never known on our own soil, and that my feeble words cannot even attempt to express. Along with those lives, we all lost the sense of invincibility that Americans have had since dropping the atom bomb. It has been posited that one cannot truly understand death until they realize that it can happen to them. The magnification of that realization onto an entire nation, more specifically through the lens of 8 million New Yorkers, was a cultural revelation unique to that time and space (not everyone had cell phones back then, and there was no Twitter). Those of us without cable had information filtered to them only through CBS (theirs being the only broadcast tower not on the Towers), and the news that we were getting was straight out of a Hollywood action film... Except it was real life. Bridges were being closed, people were being apprehended, there were numerous other bomb scares; the city was seized by a life-halting fear. The worst part of this ordeal, however, was the stories. Stories of bravery, of sacrifice, of humanity being its best, when it was at its worst. You watched the TV, as your heart broke for the individuals who would hold up pictures of their loved ones, desperately pleading into the chaos, for any shred of hope. It was fucking horrible, but you know that. The days continued to pass, yet it felt like it would never end. Like many, I can't remember ever sleeping. I don't know how I managed to feel safe again, but, like the city itself, we are still here. Though the majority of the decade has come and gone, there is still a void in the skyline of New York City, an emptiness that needs to be filled. The souls that were lost deserve better than corporate greed and bureaucratic lethargy that have delayed the erection of a proper Memorial... New York does as well. (GC)