Changicide

There are very few things in life whose entertainment value holds up over time.  Classic cinema, sure.  Quality music, yes.  But I'm talking about those things you did as a kid that just seemed awesome, and then you never outgrew.  Those things that, objectively speaking, shouldn't be that fun and yet somehow are.  Coloring your hair with magic markers... microwaving marshmallow peeps... seeing how far you can stretch a thoroughly chewed up piece of gum without breaking it... none of these things retain quite the appeal to adults they held back in the first grade.  One thing that I have always thoroughly enjoyed, and likely always will, is putting change on train tracks. 

There is just something immensely satisfying about squashing coins.  I don't know if its the illusory sense of power, or of sticking it to the Fed, or just that trains are cool and this is one more reason why.  In any case, I take vast enjoyment in the act of coin smooshing.  It's a very simple pleasure, but one that somehow never gets old, even in an age of people going to ever greater extremes in the quest for digital sources of entertainment. 


Who really needs a Wii or a giant television with Netflix and surround sound or computers that have terabytes of games and tv episodes and get used almost exclusively for social networking and watching Youtube? 







Every once in a while, I like to step back and watch a train run over my pocket change.  It's just cool.












There's no denying it.  And then you can do fun stuff with your newly squashed currency!

Like make part of someone's birthday present.  (yeah well, the rest of it will still be a surprise)

Why are new cars so ugly?

Is it just me? I think we have better taste than car companies give us credit for. From a natural selection point of view, I think that cars have become so ugly that there is no way for the consumer to express a preference by buying attractive cars because there are no attractive cars to buy. I feel like if one car with real style came out on the market, people would buy it like crazy, and car companies would finally be able to tell what people want.

But it hasn't always been this way! Take, for example, the car my mom had in her twenties vs. the car I have in my twenties. Their nicknames hint at their shapliness, or non-shapliness as it were-- my mom's was "The White Knight" (she says this is because it was a Plymouth Valiant, but I would add that it was sexy, too! just look at that thing), while mine is "The Beluga". Functionally, I love my car with undying devotion. Aesthetically, it leaves something to be desired.

My mom's 1964 Plymouth Valiant

The 2002 Toyota Corolla I drive

To be fair, my 2002 Corolla has a solid, almost attractive form, much like a beluga. But a survey of Toyota Corollas since the beginning shows that the Corolla was once a real gem. It once had more class and style. What has happened?

1966










1970


















1976












1980











1985 (umm, getting colder)










1990









1995











2000 (sad trombone)













I think the real beauty of the old cars is in the details--the headlights, the chrome, the daring curves, the paint that was somehow more vibrant and less bronze-y and shimmery. It's not enough to have a vague hint of the original shape:













I feel a little sadder every time I see the new version of the VW Beetle.








This is not to say that I haven't tried to like new cars, but I have found only a few that are acceptable:

VW Golf
(And this is not just because I like you, Emily.)











Audi TT Coupe, sort of, I guess

If the dialogue from the little mermaid were written by a marine biologist...

"Make fun of me for being half cephalopod instead of half teleost, will you?  Well take that!  How do you like being sessile, bitches!?  Mwahahahaha!  That's right!  You just go photosynthesize till you've learned your lesson!"

"Oh man...  One day you're just swimming around, waving your caudal fin at some mer-ladies, and then all of a sudden you have to deal with a triphasic life history.  Can't catch a friggin' break!  Am I a sporophyte, a gametophyte?  Dammit."