Skip to main content

Money and John Lewis

When I was younger, it seemed that my mind wandered with greater volume and velocity. As I approach 50, I’m mostly tired and task-oriented-ish, but sometimes, the mental journeys of old return. Early this morning, I thought about money, and after I read about John Lewis passing away — John Lewis, a man more deserving of a statue or a naval base named after him than any white Confederate traitor who ever lived — I thought some more.

First, eliminate the penny and the dollar bill. Stop making them entirely.

For the former, round all prices up or down to the nearest nickel and go from there. And for the latter, replace dollar bills with a greater utilization of dollar coins. And to spark this new monetary policy, mint new dollar coins with the faces of important African-American figures like Harriet Tubman and John Lewis and Scott Joplin and George Washington Carver (pictured below). I mean, I know I would like money with this dude staring back at me:


With the new faces in circulation, more people might be curious as to who is on the money, and they might learn about scientific genius or social justice or artistic talent, American stories of successes in the face of virulent opposition. And if anyone asks about other marginalized historical figures, well, mint those Americans up as well. Furthermore, every now and again, let the Internet vote on a coin, so long as winners are real humans of historical importance from underrepresented populations. (As cool as a Spongebob Dollar Coin might be in theory, it’s not a winner.)

I’m sure John Lewis wasn’t a saint, but he did more to promote and advance the ideals of America in a year than I’ve done in a half-century, and there has to be a way to honor that legacy somehow. A dollar coin might be a start. But making Voting Day a national holiday in his honor would be even better. And you can take that to the bank.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"The Silver Gun" by Robert Palmer (1983)

I mean...Urdu? Seriously, Urdu . On an already eclectic and worldly album -- Pride , from 1983 -- "The Silver Gun" closes a chapter in Robert Palmer's career by singing a song about a horse in a language spoken daily by over 100 million people. The liquid bass line and propulsive electronics set out a bedrock for Palmer to ping phrasings rather out of place in Western music, askew astride even the peripatetic minimalism of the rest of the record. Somehow, in the middle of Michigan's Appalachia, I had this on vinyl a few years before the CD era officially commenced. It was an album of effort -- even the cover, a pointillism-and-bronze work, had Palmer's head barely above the water -- but the stitches didn't show to my pre-adolescent eyes and ears. In a career marked by zigs and zags, Pride and "The Silver Gun" were most certainly Other, and for a kid that felt like he didn't belong much of anywhere, it was nice to have those discrete feeling...

Some 2024 Listening Pleasures

It started with a gift of two JBL Control 25 speakers, and by "gift" I mean "borrowed" -- a.k.a. "will never return" -- from an obsolete tech detritus pile at work. I may have snagged more than two gifts, of course, but the raw footage proving such a claim remains elusive. And after installing the JBL speakers into the upper corners of the music room, and after installing speaker stands for the rear speakers I already had, and after making the hard choice between a big-ass bean bag and a comfy leather recliner to properly center myself in the audio field (R.I.P., big-ass bean bag), there was only one missing piece: the Apple TV 4K unit. So for me, 2024 was the year I streamed a lot of music in Atmos through Apple Music, surrounded by new tunes and old bops in thrilling new dimensions. Some might say you don't need surround sound, 'cos the two ears + two speakers modality has been dandy for a while now, but that's like saying you don't need ...

The Natural's Not In It

  For nearly seven years on the button, Courtney and I lived on Perch Lake, just outside of Gaylord. Right next to Perch Lake was The Natural Golf Course, eighteen holes that twisted and turned through the best nature that the 45th Parallel could offer. The picture above is the view of the first green, and if you left the wooden bridge to the right and briefly ambled through the woods and over a rusted metal fence, you'd get right to our old driveway. Every now and again, an errant golf ball would appear at the edge of our property, like a single egg laid by an itinerant duck. Of the three major elitist sports -- golf, tennis, skiing -- I golfed because the barrier to entry was pretty low and the interest in golf on my Dad's side of the family was high, from playing the sport to watching it on television on the weekends. As spare clubs were abundant and my growth spurt had yet to overwhelm statistical norms, my grandmother would take prepubescent me to the Roscommon driving ran...