tyrannosaurus phone

Picture this: it’s 2001. The Canadian tuxedo is more than just a modest party gimmick, and your phone is bigger and heavier than your heart. The world is wearing one large, gaudy, glittery party hat (until 2008, but that’s a story history can tell itself). And we would be too, if most of us hadn't just started walking proficiently. The only party hat we’re wearing is in that one picture where we’re ridiculously covered in cake, totally unbothered by a massive numbered candle. Music is just a collection of sounds. But 2006 rolls around, and we’re learning how to be individual people. The hits on the radio circling the cluttered interior of our parents’ cars are indexing from 1990-2005. Life is rolling easy. These are some of the songs I remember like comfortable, non-slip socks. They’re tried and true. These are the hits from when you’re tired of Bon Iver, yearning for Limited Too, and searching for the junk food of Spotify. These are the songs you hear in the deli, tastefully curated for old white people. These are the songs forever imprisoned in a CD case your mom hasn’t taken to Goodwill yet. These are just a little slice of the hustle and bustle of those single digit glory years (but if you’re looking for more, we can make that happen). Some moments are coherent, some are messy and jumbled, optimized for shuffled reminiscing. But hey, it’s the early 2000s. We’re still figuring sh*t out.

— Emma Banks