On November 12, 2025, the U.S. Mint made its very last penny.
(I so wanted to title this post “Stop Making Cents” but even I have my pun limits. Associated Press, ABC News, The Wall Street Journal, and others do not.)
Penny for your thoughts.
How many thoughts will I ever have now if there are no more pennies to pay for them?
Which brings me to …
I bet you have a friend who only shows up when things are getting rough. They need your shoulder to lean on, your compassionate ear, your thoughtful, “It’s ok, things are going to be ok,” half-truth.
It’s me. Hi.
I seem to write more when baseball has gone sour. When “stinky” only scratches the surface of how maddeningly awful the Baltimore Orioles have been playing.
How awful? Let Mookie Wilson-Betts explain:
Just awful.
(The Orioles are not the worst in baseball. Rockies fans, here, come sit with me.)
Anyway, I have some thoughts. All random. Not all baseball. Not a single one is worth rounding up to a nickel.
Penny Thoughts.
God, “Stop Making Cents” is so good.
This weird visionary folk art of Talking Heads hangs on our wall.
Will women named Penny have to change their names? Will all the Penelopes now have to be nicknamed Lopes?
(Editor/Husband suggests the Penelopes are being short-changed. His pun. Not mine.)
Penelope was among the top 25 baby names last year. That’s a lotta little Lopes running around.
I’m sure we’ll get used to it.
Do people still tape pennies to their record player’s tonearm? Maybe we’ll at least put a stop to that vinyl carnage.
2017. Photo: Gage Skidmore via Creative Commons
In the 1970s, Harrison Ford, more carpenter than actor at that point, built the deck at Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne’s Malibu home.
That’s a name-dropping mouthful, isn’t it?
Mentioning people you read about in a book is an introvert’s way of name-dropping.
Hi. Me again.
(The deck may have never been finished. It’s a little unclear.)
“Writer’s block is a non-medical condition, primarily associated with writing.” – Wikipedia.
Sure that looks awkward, but also a little Hemingway’esque, don’t you think?
Enheduanna
The New York Times noted recently that the Sumerian priestess Enheduanna, who lived more than 4,000 years ago, was one of the first named writers and wrote about a form of writer’s block.
The poet Arthur Rimbaud, who inspired Bob Dylan, Patti Smith, and maybe you, too, hit his writer’s block at about age 20. Well, maybe he just ran out of words, which is, dear reader, not the same thing.
Enheduanna, Rimbaud, and me. That sounds like a weird folk cover band that people would totally pretend to like. (“ooh, I heard Gram Parsons discovered them!”)
It would be so good – so very, very good – if Enheduanna was Sumerian for “penny.”
Thanks for nothing, Sumerians.
I need to mention the Seattle Mariners here. (Not just because this is a baseball page. And not just because my friend Bill lives in Seattle. He’s written a book! Me, name dropping again.)
It’s not their first time, but on July 21, the Mariners will hold another “Take Meow to the Ballgame” day to celebrate cats.
(“Take Meow to the Ballgame”? Ooh, “Stop Making Cents” has competition.)
Mookie Wilson-Betts. Mildly interested.
No cats allowed.
I think if you’re going to celebrate cats, then let ‘em in. Watch 2,000 cats freak and scatter through the ballpark as though someone just turned vacuum cleaners on in every section of the place.
I’m just saying. If you’re going to celebrate cats, shouldn’t cats be invited?
Mookie Wilson-Betts. A little disappointed.
Tomorrow, May 24, Bob Dylan turns 85.
1963. Public Domain
I know several people who are going to parties, tribute shows, tribute-party shows, party-tribute shows, at least one “that Timothée Chalamet movie” watch party, and one invite to a party-tribute-party-party that promises at least 65 Dylan songs will be sung. (At least!)
Introverts love talking about the places they won’t be.
But me and my turntable will definitely be taking a spin.
Happy Birthday, Bob.
“Not a shirt on my back. Not a penny on my name. Well, I can’t go home thisaway.”
I Was Young When I Left Home – Bob Dylan (1961)
The Baseball Bloggess 