Floo(Red).

With his execution in December 2006, I suppose Saddam Hussein wouldn't have been eligible this year (YouTube suggests he's at the end of his rope anyway).

But really. Really? Is this what our world has come to? The ghostly face of Eastern Europe's grand puppet master staring back at us as Time Magazine's "Person of the Year" because of his ability to "impose stability"? What am I missing? Fine, the publisher's criteria look at an individual's influence in the world - not necessarily positive contributions. That said, I'm just thinking it's a sad state of affairs if we cannot come up with someone more deserving. You know, someone who hasn't reputedly perpetrated (say that ten times really quickly...) a series of crimes against humanity under the crushing grip of his iron thumb.

Well, I suppose Time's border is red - and not in the manner of Bono's Red campaign - but I can't think of any publication that should feature Russian President Vladimir Putin as its "Person of the Year" other than Dictator Monthly (now with pin-ups!), or, you know, maybe the press he controls in his home country. Naturally, if they didn't comply, he'd show them exactly why Time felt the need to bestow upon him this title.

Here's hoping for better things in 2008.

The Sound of Year End II.

It's not only time for fat men in red suits to make lists and check them twice - it is, after all, that time again for year-end posts. For the record, while my ears unwrapped a lot of extremely enjoyable music in 2007, very few complete albums really stood out for me, unlike last year. As such, I'm going to list my 15 favourite songs I came across in 2007 (whether they were issued then or not), in no particular order (album name in parentheses). You know, the ones that, at one point or another, were on constant repeat. Digital waxy goodness available here. Drum roll, please:

Beirut: A Sunday Smile (The Flying Club Cup). For me, 2007 was about all things Zach Condon, meaning Beirut and his previous bands, The Real People and 1971. From Gulag Orkestar to the Lon Gisland and Elephant Gun EPs, to The Flying Club Cup, who knew European gypsy music could be so infectious?

Beirut: Elephant Gun (Elephant Gun EP). Yes, more Beirut, this time from the aforementioned Elephant Gun EP. Bring on the brass section. Condon was rather prolific in 2007, issuing two EPs and a full-length album on the footsteps of Gulag Orkestar's acclaim. 'Strike while the iron's hot,' they say.

Basia Bulat: Snakes & Ladders (Oh, My Darling). Canadian content alert! Not only that, Bulat is a Master's student at The University of Western Ontario, working out of London and Toronto. It's a shame the album was released in the UK prior to Canada earlier this year, but it's one of the year's best.

Feist: My Moon My Man (The Reminder). Seemingly trying to re-introduce sequined jumpsuits to the collective consciousness, sometime Broken Social Scener Leslie Feist hit the mainstream with her catchy (and well-choreographed) videos. This one was used in an infectious commercial for the iPod Touch.

Fionn Regan: Put a Penny in the Slot (The End of History). Sure, this ultra-witty song has a really catchy chorus and a reference to Saul Bellow, but really, Regan had me at the lyric that mentioned a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Seriously, how many musicians would be ingenious enough to come up with that one?

Nicole Atkins: The Way it Is (Neptune City). One aural taste of Atkins' debut EP Bleeding Diamonds made the New Jersyan's first full-length a hotly anticipated release this year. Not to be confused with the diet, Atkins' voice is full and rich, haunting and enchanting.

Blair: Mona Lisa (Pluto). New Orleans-based Blair gave her EP the name Pluto as a metaphor for the impact hurricane Katrina had on the city, comparing it to the scientific community's decision to delist Pluto as a planet, saying: "Something is one way all your life, then all of a sudden, it totally changes."

Interpol: There's No I in Threesome (Our Love to Admire). Sure, the title reaches out and grabs you, but so does the hook. Popular opinion is that Interpol has been unable to recapture past glories of Turn Off the Bright Lights and Antics, but I'd say this album has more high points than not. Or, at least three.

Stars: Bitches of Tokyo (In Our Bedroom After the War). Given my love for Stars, I had looked forward to the release of this album with great anticipation, but haven't found that it has lived up to my expectations thus far. Except for this track, which has made me dance around once or twice this year.

Kate Nash: Foundations (Made of Bricks). "Dear God, I hope I'm not stuck with this one," Nash sings of a dysfunctional relationship she's holding on to by her fingernails. Comparisons to Lily Allen are obvious, but Nash brings a deeper sensibility to her songs and a dry wit that often counters the bouncing tunes.

Voxtrot: Real Life Version (Self-Titled). Another band that has achieved critical acclaim on the backs of several EPs and much love in the blogosphere, this is Voxtrot's first full-length album. While I'm not sure the LP hit all the high notes the EPs did, the band continues to craft beautiful pop songs.

Miracle Fortress: This Thing About You (Five Roses). Nominated for Canada's Polaris Prize last year, Miracle Fortress is essentially the work of Montreal-based Graham Van Pelt (who isn't coming out of Montreal these days?) Sunny and whirling, this is easily my favourite track on the album.

Lily Allen: Nan, You're a Window Shopper (Alright, Still - B-Sides). Sure, she's a bit of a brat and a self-admitted alcoholic, but the cheeky Allen can churn out some sunny pop tunes. Somewhat of a guilty pleasure, a number of Allen's songs wormed their way into my consciousness, but ended up being overplayed.

Maritime: Parade of Punk Rock T-Shirts (We, the Vehicles). Fine, this song (2006) is not from this year (Heresy & the Hotel Choir is), but it introduced me to the band that rose from the ashes of The Promise Ring and The Dismemberment Plan. Infectious and catchy, but hardly punk rock.

Eleni Mandell: Girls (Miracle of Five). "Do you still cry about girls you wanted?" Mandell softly croons to a soft-strumming guitar. No, no tears. While I can't say I'm much of a fan of her other work, this was a delightfully pleasant track that made its way into rotation for me this summer.

Upon hitting "Publish Post", I know some other song will likely vie for Top 15 honours in my head, but that's just the way it is. There were too many good songs to list, so I stuck with the ones that made me keep hitting repeat in 2007. Your faves? Hit the Comments section.

More Signs from Africa.

Ah, the subtleties of the English language. Walking through Mwanza, Tanzania, I had to chuckle about this store's sign. If you're in the market for a better-than-average snack, you're in luck - but for a matching, quality, beverage, no dice. They only serve "standard" drinks. Sigh, my thirst continued, unabated, due to my highfalutin ways.

This next sign, at the Tanzania Breweries plant in Mwanza (which produces 13 different East African beers), seems less funny than perhaps redundant. Really, smoking kills your taste buds? Who knew? Then again, with how often many people twin cancer sticks with drinking, maybe the brewer should be testing the taste of tobacco with hops.

As an aside, a positive story from our tour of the brewery was the discovery that they treat water from Lake Victoria and run a tap into the local community from which citizens can take clean water for free. This was slightly encouraging, despite the greater problem in Tanzania of beer and soda generally being cheaper than potable water.

The Future is Beer (er, Near).

Seen on a street corner downtown: a comical juxtaposition of signs from both former and future tenants at one of the city's landmark buildings.

In large, bold letters, one banner blares: "Building Positive Futures for Youth". Under it, however, window paint exposes the building's history as a pub that hawks $2 beer on Mondays (inset) - likely a message the new establishment will be trying to avoid. Scraper, anyone?

Joey? Pheebs?

Hoping to rediscover some hops prior to my basketball game last night, I came to wonder if maybe, just maybe, kangaroo jerky might do the trick (after all, a "court" is one possible collective noun used for these Australian animals). Appropriately enough, the strips of 'fast food' come in a handy little pouch (though, given roos' propensity for boxing, cardboard might also have been equally suitable).

While my love for a fine jerky is long established, I cannot say I had ever set my teeth into a marsupial before. It was a little gamey, but - alas - did nothing to alter the effects of gravity on my body. Even KangaROOS, the shoes (and yes, they still make them), couldn't help there, it seems.

Odd kangaroo fact for the day: they are environmentally friendly because they don't burp or fart. Nearly a quarter of the planet's greenhouse gases come from agriculture, but, unlike cows and other herbivores, roos are missing the digestive methane releases that lead to that stench punching a hole in the ozone. Instead, their bodies undergo a series of conversion processes that eventually turn the gas into further energy. Sure beats having to blame the dingo.

'Tis the Season to be Jolly.

Not to judge (okay, maybe just a wee bit), and say what you will about the world's oldest profession, but I'm still thinking it might be a bit of an oxymoron to be using the term "high-class" and "prostitute" in the same line. Call me old-fashioned, I guess.

But I digress. As the 'odd news' awardee of the day, we have a story of a woman with an unorthodox way of raising funds for a children's fundraiser. Now that's the holiday spirit. Given the context of the article, doesn't anyone else find the terms "deposit slip", "touches me deeply" and "spread her message" slightly disturbing (at least there wasn't a typo, inserting an 'a' for the 'e' in 'message')?

SANTIAGO (AFP) - A high-class Chilean prostitute touched by a charity telethon's bid to raise money for handicapped children has stepped forward with her own contribution: 27 hours of sex.

That's how much paid sex work the escort, Maria Carolina, has said she wants to contribute to the Teleton association. The 5,400 dollars she earns from the marathon session, scheduled for November 30-December 1, will go to the charity, Carolina said, explaining she earns 300 dollars per 90-minute session.

She said she would post a picture of the bank deposit slip on her website afterwards to dispel any doubts. "I am going to contribute with my work to a purpose that touches me deeply," said the prostitute, who has spread her message through several online sites and television programs.

But the administrator of the Teleton foundation, television presenter Mario Kreutzberger, has thrown cold water on the proposition, saying it falls well outside his moral guidelines and he cannot accept it. Carolina, though, said she was determined. "How can someone question a person who wants to put her job at the service of a noble cause?" she asked.

Death of Santa?

I can say with earnest that I'm no green thumb and, as such, can say with equal conviction can that I have never associated the word 'stunning' with urns (and no, not because I'm against them, to say, urn-ist), much less an arrangement of them.

Then again, I had to double-take to realize that I wasn't looking at a sign outside of a funeral parlour (with a beaming, jolly St. Nick to boot) before I realized that this sign actually made sense. Still, it wasn't a sentence I'd expected to see roadside in bright, dancing neon letters.

Rock, Stump, Scissors.

Passing this the other day, I decided to log what I considered a fine and witty example of some local guerrilla graffiti. I presume it was likely intended to provide cutting commentary on the state of diminishing green space in the city. Of course, given the impact on the ozone of aerosols present in most spray paint cans, the artist might have been barking up the wrong tree if it's environmental activism he had in mind. Just a snippet -- or sliver -- of information to consider. Perhaps he was stumped and saw no other way to branch out.