Saturday, December 22, 2007
They go back in the spokes
I'm sure most of you on this blog may not be able to relate to this small feeling I get - this selfish feeling - when I think about baseball and the steroids scandals up to the recent Mitchell report.
In 1986 my family took a trip - a long expensive trip to the three major sports Hall of Fames. A trip filled with flat tires, bad transmissons, tense family moments and great family moments, and an excitement of a 10 year old on his quest to Cooperstown. I had just started began seriously collecting baseball cards, admiring the collection my brother had since he was my age. Cooperstown was my Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle! And indeed - I very well may shooot my eye out on this one later on.
Collecting cards I'd hear stories about our dumb parents putting baseball cards in the spokes of their tires becuse they liked the sound the cards made. It was no doubt they were without Dr. Mario and World of Warcraft and were easily entertained by things like the cards in the spokes in the tires, hula-hoops and vanilla ice-cream. But some parents - other kids parents - the smart ones - saved their cards and had an investment for their kids futures. I'd have to build my own investment - support myself with that Jose Canseco rookie card I knew I'd get opening that pack of 86 donruss. Flat tires and broken down RV's frustrated me as an interference to my baseball card dynasty I would soon create off of my fourteen dollars and twenty eight cents.
When we got there, I was overwhelmed. We walked the streets of Coopertown, going from store to store, and I was planning my financial future. No point in spending my money on one or two big cards. I could've sammed off a few 1984 rookie cards, but I invested in a box of 1986 Donruss cards. That way, I could have all the players of the future, and make hundreds off each one of them. I opened pack after pack and never got a Jose Canseco. I was naer tears as we left Cooperstown. I'd have to settle for a Mookie Wilson, a Howard Johnson, a Billy Doran, and other five to ten cent athletes. That damn conspiracy against me started at an early age.
Over the next six years, I would spend alot of money on baseball cards. At times, I put my juvenile freedom on the line as my friend Steve and I stole 54 Deion Sanders Upper Deck baseball cards. In my own admittance, I was a little criminal, stealing other cards along the way from trade shows and a friend in junior high who I thought was so rich, he'd never know the difference. I feel bad about that now, and would at times in my future life experience the karma of what it was like to have things stolen from me. The only thing I can do about that past is be honest about it. Admit it and be accountable for it. (Hear that Mark McGwire? - Be accountable).
I lost interest in cards when I got a drivers licsense and a few more hairs on my chest. (The hairs actually came way later!) But I kept those cards neatly arranged in a closet along with my childish dream I've carried in my pocket. And eventually, the dream was forgotten, too. But the cards remained.
As I came into adulthood - with less money - I pondered at times to sell my cards. Each time I had abandoned that idea, with an assurance to myself that investments gain even more value ocer time. I reminded myself not to be so passive about my future investments. But in reality, I was a baseball card pinch penny. I very well could have made a few quid to help out, but that childish dream, convinced me I could make more quid at a later date. I would never make mistakes I mad like trading all of my Ken Griffey Jr cards for this superstar Bo Jackson. I'd be smarter.
Four or so years ago, I gained possession of my collection from my parents. I took possession of the most valauble cards and 50% of my collection, leaving a few boxes of hidden treasures in their attic. I withheld making quick money to let my investment grow. Some point during that year, I believe I spent a night very similair to my chhildhood nights at home. I was in my apartment witha Beckett price guide and cards sprawled around the carpet floor. I was somewhat content, but with my short attention span - still, as an adult - I forgot about them.
A few weeks ago, I was brought to the realization, that the golden boys of the late 80's and early 90's were among many of those leading the steroid scandals. The Barry Bonds (87 Topps), Mark McGwire (84 Topps), Jose Canseco (86 Donruss), and now possibly Roger Clemens (85 Topps), were practically plummeting in value. I had already given up on the other like Daryl Strawberry and Dwight Gooden, the Rafael Palmero (87 Donruss) was worthless now. The Sammy Sosa (90 Topps) was worthless. And the Mitchell report isn't to blame. Neither are the players listed. I blame myself for being a pinch penny. I learn from this lesson, but get an irritation everytime I read more about it.
I still have my collection. Now seems the time when I would get the least for it. I could wait for the season to begin in April and try to unload what I can for what hopefully help make a payment on one of my lower credit cards - the interest at least. But what then. I suspect, if history repeats itslef and the laws of Darwin and Haines prevail - I will be bitching - I mean - blogging about this sometime in the future and possibly in greater length of less importance.
I'll let you fine people know how things turn out. I may just sell all of them except for the Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens rookie cards. Take that money to Wal-Mart and invest in a bicycle to get myself back in shape once I quit smoking, and take those two cards and put them back in the spokes of my tires.
As I ride the trails and laugh at the face of defeat,
I will listen to the sounds of the cards in the spokes,
And think, "Golly Gee, that sounds neat!!"
In 1986 my family took a trip - a long expensive trip to the three major sports Hall of Fames. A trip filled with flat tires, bad transmissons, tense family moments and great family moments, and an excitement of a 10 year old on his quest to Cooperstown. I had just started began seriously collecting baseball cards, admiring the collection my brother had since he was my age. Cooperstown was my Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle! And indeed - I very well may shooot my eye out on this one later on.
Collecting cards I'd hear stories about our dumb parents putting baseball cards in the spokes of their tires becuse they liked the sound the cards made. It was no doubt they were without Dr. Mario and World of Warcraft and were easily entertained by things like the cards in the spokes in the tires, hula-hoops and vanilla ice-cream. But some parents - other kids parents - the smart ones - saved their cards and had an investment for their kids futures. I'd have to build my own investment - support myself with that Jose Canseco rookie card I knew I'd get opening that pack of 86 donruss. Flat tires and broken down RV's frustrated me as an interference to my baseball card dynasty I would soon create off of my fourteen dollars and twenty eight cents.
When we got there, I was overwhelmed. We walked the streets of Coopertown, going from store to store, and I was planning my financial future. No point in spending my money on one or two big cards. I could've sammed off a few 1984 rookie cards, but I invested in a box of 1986 Donruss cards. That way, I could have all the players of the future, and make hundreds off each one of them. I opened pack after pack and never got a Jose Canseco. I was naer tears as we left Cooperstown. I'd have to settle for a Mookie Wilson, a Howard Johnson, a Billy Doran, and other five to ten cent athletes. That damn conspiracy against me started at an early age.
Over the next six years, I would spend alot of money on baseball cards. At times, I put my juvenile freedom on the line as my friend Steve and I stole 54 Deion Sanders Upper Deck baseball cards. In my own admittance, I was a little criminal, stealing other cards along the way from trade shows and a friend in junior high who I thought was so rich, he'd never know the difference. I feel bad about that now, and would at times in my future life experience the karma of what it was like to have things stolen from me. The only thing I can do about that past is be honest about it. Admit it and be accountable for it. (Hear that Mark McGwire? - Be accountable).
I lost interest in cards when I got a drivers licsense and a few more hairs on my chest. (The hairs actually came way later!) But I kept those cards neatly arranged in a closet along with my childish dream I've carried in my pocket. And eventually, the dream was forgotten, too. But the cards remained.
As I came into adulthood - with less money - I pondered at times to sell my cards. Each time I had abandoned that idea, with an assurance to myself that investments gain even more value ocer time. I reminded myself not to be so passive about my future investments. But in reality, I was a baseball card pinch penny. I very well could have made a few quid to help out, but that childish dream, convinced me I could make more quid at a later date. I would never make mistakes I mad like trading all of my Ken Griffey Jr cards for this superstar Bo Jackson. I'd be smarter.
Four or so years ago, I gained possession of my collection from my parents. I took possession of the most valauble cards and 50% of my collection, leaving a few boxes of hidden treasures in their attic. I withheld making quick money to let my investment grow. Some point during that year, I believe I spent a night very similair to my chhildhood nights at home. I was in my apartment witha Beckett price guide and cards sprawled around the carpet floor. I was somewhat content, but with my short attention span - still, as an adult - I forgot about them.
A few weeks ago, I was brought to the realization, that the golden boys of the late 80's and early 90's were among many of those leading the steroid scandals. The Barry Bonds (87 Topps), Mark McGwire (84 Topps), Jose Canseco (86 Donruss), and now possibly Roger Clemens (85 Topps), were practically plummeting in value. I had already given up on the other like Daryl Strawberry and Dwight Gooden, the Rafael Palmero (87 Donruss) was worthless now. The Sammy Sosa (90 Topps) was worthless. And the Mitchell report isn't to blame. Neither are the players listed. I blame myself for being a pinch penny. I learn from this lesson, but get an irritation everytime I read more about it.
I still have my collection. Now seems the time when I would get the least for it. I could wait for the season to begin in April and try to unload what I can for what hopefully help make a payment on one of my lower credit cards - the interest at least. But what then. I suspect, if history repeats itslef and the laws of Darwin and Haines prevail - I will be bitching - I mean - blogging about this sometime in the future and possibly in greater length of less importance.
I'll let you fine people know how things turn out. I may just sell all of them except for the Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens rookie cards. Take that money to Wal-Mart and invest in a bicycle to get myself back in shape once I quit smoking, and take those two cards and put them back in the spokes of my tires.
As I ride the trails and laugh at the face of defeat,
I will listen to the sounds of the cards in the spokes,
And think, "Golly Gee, that sounds neat!!"
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Update: Suzy and Jerrel's new house!
I wanted to take some time to give you guys some great news. Jerrel and I closed on our first home last Friday! It is a 2 bedroom/1 bath house and approximately 1000 sq ft of living space located just off of 59N in Splendora, TX (the location is about the equivilent of the Woodlands on 45N). This house was a great bargain for us, unfortunately it is a fixer-upper home (all of which we can manage). Last Sunday, the house was painted a clean coat of white - and Jerrel's family kindly offered some appliances as a gift for our new home (we were stressing this one a little bit). Eventually, we will install some new laminate flooring in all of the rooms. The second bedroom is small, so Jerrel would like to turn it into a "laundry wash room". What sucks right now is: I still have 2 months left on my lease, so Jerrel and I are not able to combine money which will otherwise go to my rent and expenses. So, why move out there? Well for one, the commute on 45N sucks, and it seems no one's hip to 59N, the traffic's significantly lighter. Second, my job will be relocating to the Woodlands this coming January - the move puts me that much closer to work. Third, Jerrel had lived in the area before, and he feels we can be very comfortable. Last, the cost of living is much cheaper (in regard to houses) and is far less than most apartments for rent in Houston. The funny thing about all of this, there is some new apartments being built in front, and to the side of my apartment complex. This means it will not be the secure, and secluded place it once was... and I couldn't move out at a better time. We are very excited! We are hoping to have most of our furniture moved this weekend, and just in time to celebrate the new year.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Another Joke
Three men - a Canadian farmer, Osama bin Laden and a Texan are all working together one day.
They come across a lantern and a Genie pops out of it.
'I will give each on you one wish, which is three wishes in total', says the Genie.
The Canadian says, 'I am a farmer and my son will also farm. I want the land to be forever fertile in Canada .'
POOF! With the blink of the Genie's eye, the land in Canada was forever fertile for farming.
Osama was amazed, so he said, 'I want a wall around Afghanistan , Palestine , Iraq and Iran so that no infidels, Americans or Canadians can come in our our precious land.'
POOF! Again, with the blink of the Genie's eye, there was a huge wall around those countries.
The Texan says, 'I am very curious. Please tell me more about this wall.'
The Genie explains, 'Well, it's about 5,000 feet high, 5oo feet thick and completely surrounds the country. Nothing can get in or out; it's virtually impenetrable.'
The Texan sits down, cracks a beer, smiles, and says, 'Fill it with water.'
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