NONEXISTENT-EDITOR'S NOTE: Embedding YouTubes in this newfangled Blogger version is still, for the most part, beyond me, so I'll just plop the URL at the bottom of the post and yearn for the days of stone tablets and Nintendo.
Teaching AP English Language and Composition for the first time this year, I became obsessed with reading and writing nonfiction arguments. The anthology we taught out of was by far the best text I have ever used. It was filled with incredible articles, essays, and speeches by some of the most interesting people of the past two hundred years. Plus, the units were awesome! Gender, education, pop culture, etc.
Entering the world of AP also meant showing the kids sample essays graded on the AP scale, and one of those essay topics dealt with the proposed elimination of the penny. This topic was written about with varying degrees of success by the "sample" students, and all of them at least attempted to write in the academic voice. I, however, have no responsibility to either academic language or precise diction, this being an infrequently updated blog of questionable quality.
Therefore, I am going mano a mano (sp?) with the penny. Like Ali in Manila, Ozone and Turbo in Breakin', and Tina Turner in Thunderdome, I'm going steel cage status with this worthless warrior. I am pissed, and I am The Copper Stopper. The Lincoln-Coin Liquidator. The Cent Sniper. The penny, for all it's cutesy, outdated, Horatio Alger in bootstraps connotations, is a waste of time, space, and Lincoln's bearded mug.
What truly set off this vitriolic rant? Well, yesterday I was rushing to grab the bus. The wonderful folks at MUNI (or SF gov. or Tywin Lannister or whoever) recently jacked up the price of bus service from $2.00 per four hour window to $2.25 per four hour window. I don't ride the bus enough for this to matter in any real practical sense, but a simple ride on the bus now requires both remembering to bring dollar bills and subsequently digging for change.
No big deal, you say? WRONG, FRIENDO. GARGANTUAN DEAL. I am a man. A man's man. A "Toby Keith playing tackle football on Sunday with that overweight Southern comedian guy that does Priloseic ads where he water skis through a circle of fire onto a backyard with a table stacked with ribs" man. Therefore, I don't have a purse. Or that "It's European!" bag from Seinfeld. I simply have a bursting at the seams wallet (two Seinfeld allusions in two sentences!) with a little change pouch in the middle.
So picture this scene, if you can, without averting your imagination eyes. My MUNI app says the bus is coming NOW. I'm two blocks away. For some reason I haven't stopped listening to the Jesus and Mary Chain song so I can focus on freaking out about this. I have preplanned the two singles I need for bus fare. All good, right? NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! I need a quarter!!!!
Ok, deep breaths. I need a quarter, or at the very least a combination of dimes and nickels adding up to twenty-five cents. Sidebar: I've always been a huge fan of the dime. So small, with such distinctive texture on the side. Solid work, Master of Coin! Anyway, my aforementioned bulging wallet is, discounting the width of business cards procured in 1998, bulging mostly due to coins inside the little pouch in the middle. Surely I'm set!
I thrust my hands in the pouch, blindly searching for twenty-five cents to give to Zuul the Gatekeeper (or is it Gozer the bus driver?) so I can take a thirty minute ride to the Mission. ( :/ ) There's at least six coins in there, so although I'll be sweaty and vaguely anxious once I get on the bus, I'LL GET ON THE BUS. I dump the coins in one hand while I too precariously for not having a cover hold my iPhone in the other hand. I feel like what I imagine it must have been for gold rushers to sift through brackish water in the hopes of striking it rich back in the mid 1800s (maybe?). The stakes aren't quite as high, but you get the point, I'm sure! Let's see: dime (ole pal!), penny (bastard!), penny (I SWEAR!), nickel (the character actor of coins), penny (PANIC!!!), PENNY.
So, in the end, after trudging through the treacherous terrain of seven increasingly bougie city blocks and sprinting the last two, I'm like Elaine Benes after obnoxiously drumming her fingers on the counter of the Nazi's soup shop. (#3!) I'm gonna have to either Uber it to the Mission (guilt), drive (parking hell), or wait thirty-five minutes (if I'm lucky) for the next vehicular monstrosity to rescue me.
That is my personal tale of woe. One of many, I might add. In the end, you can trace practically every tragedy of the last ten years (conservative estimate!) to the penny. I have neither the time nor the inclination to provide evidence for this claim, so you're just gonna have to trust me. The penny, the smushed rusty turd of the coin universe, ruins lives and makes people sweaty.
Tame Impala is the best band there is right now. This track, off their soon-to-be-released album Currents, is less rock-ish than their other stuff, but it's still great. SEE THEM LIVE.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=toU0_qZtOOA
Therefore, I am going mano a mano (sp?) with the penny. Like Ali in Manila, Ozone and Turbo in Breakin', and Tina Turner in Thunderdome, I'm going steel cage status with this worthless warrior. I am pissed, and I am The Copper Stopper. The Lincoln-Coin Liquidator. The Cent Sniper. The penny, for all it's cutesy, outdated, Horatio Alger in bootstraps connotations, is a waste of time, space, and Lincoln's bearded mug.
What truly set off this vitriolic rant? Well, yesterday I was rushing to grab the bus. The wonderful folks at MUNI (or SF gov. or Tywin Lannister or whoever) recently jacked up the price of bus service from $2.00 per four hour window to $2.25 per four hour window. I don't ride the bus enough for this to matter in any real practical sense, but a simple ride on the bus now requires both remembering to bring dollar bills and subsequently digging for change.
No big deal, you say? WRONG, FRIENDO. GARGANTUAN DEAL. I am a man. A man's man. A "Toby Keith playing tackle football on Sunday with that overweight Southern comedian guy that does Priloseic ads where he water skis through a circle of fire onto a backyard with a table stacked with ribs" man. Therefore, I don't have a purse. Or that "It's European!" bag from Seinfeld. I simply have a bursting at the seams wallet (two Seinfeld allusions in two sentences!) with a little change pouch in the middle.
So picture this scene, if you can, without averting your imagination eyes. My MUNI app says the bus is coming NOW. I'm two blocks away. For some reason I haven't stopped listening to the Jesus and Mary Chain song so I can focus on freaking out about this. I have preplanned the two singles I need for bus fare. All good, right? NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! I need a quarter!!!!
Ok, deep breaths. I need a quarter, or at the very least a combination of dimes and nickels adding up to twenty-five cents. Sidebar: I've always been a huge fan of the dime. So small, with such distinctive texture on the side. Solid work, Master of Coin! Anyway, my aforementioned bulging wallet is, discounting the width of business cards procured in 1998, bulging mostly due to coins inside the little pouch in the middle. Surely I'm set!
I thrust my hands in the pouch, blindly searching for twenty-five cents to give to Zuul the Gatekeeper (or is it Gozer the bus driver?) so I can take a thirty minute ride to the Mission. ( :/ ) There's at least six coins in there, so although I'll be sweaty and vaguely anxious once I get on the bus, I'LL GET ON THE BUS. I dump the coins in one hand while I too precariously for not having a cover hold my iPhone in the other hand. I feel like what I imagine it must have been for gold rushers to sift through brackish water in the hopes of striking it rich back in the mid 1800s (maybe?). The stakes aren't quite as high, but you get the point, I'm sure! Let's see: dime (ole pal!), penny (bastard!), penny (I SWEAR!), nickel (the character actor of coins), penny (PANIC!!!), PENNY.
So, in the end, after trudging through the treacherous terrain of seven increasingly bougie city blocks and sprinting the last two, I'm like Elaine Benes after obnoxiously drumming her fingers on the counter of the Nazi's soup shop. (#3!) I'm gonna have to either Uber it to the Mission (guilt), drive (parking hell), or wait thirty-five minutes (if I'm lucky) for the next vehicular monstrosity to rescue me.
That is my personal tale of woe. One of many, I might add. In the end, you can trace practically every tragedy of the last ten years (conservative estimate!) to the penny. I have neither the time nor the inclination to provide evidence for this claim, so you're just gonna have to trust me. The penny, the smushed rusty turd of the coin universe, ruins lives and makes people sweaty.
Tame Impala is the best band there is right now. This track, off their soon-to-be-released album Currents, is less rock-ish than their other stuff, but it's still great. SEE THEM LIVE.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=toU0_qZtOOA
