Baseball Cards, etc.

It had been a long time since I'd bought a baseball card, some years I guess, but I started poking around on ebay and I found some cards I'd always wanted, and for cheap. The first card I bought was one that I'd lusted after when I was about twelve years old: 1995 Leaf Heading for the Hall Cal Ripken, Jr. I was ecstatic to find the card. I wanted to go back in time and high five the fat little kid me.

For starters, this card is really rad looking, as it's designed to look like a genuine Hall of Fame plaque in Cooperstown, which is pretty cool. Also, back in 1995, the rounded top edge of these cards really seemed as badass as wizardry. The idea of a card being more that a rectangular piece of paper just seemed downright incredible to me. On top of all of its resplendent beauty, this card was serial numbered and limited to only 5000 copies. It was among the first cards to be issued in such a way, and this was another aspect of it that made it desirable to me.

On September 6, 1995, Ripken played his 2,131st game, breaking Lou Gehrig's record streak for consecutive games played. That alone assured Ripken would have a real plaque in the Hall, but he'd had a great career all along. This card, along with all of his others, went through the roof in value after his accomplishment. At its peak, it was selling for $160, an unimaginable sum for a kid.

Well, it took me years, but I finally landed one: number 3,093 of 5,000. It seems like nothing ever gets cheaper, but this card had gone down in value just a little bit. I picked it up for a measly $3.99.


Me Made Music

In the time since my last post, I put a drum set in my apartment. I know, I know. It sounds like a very rude and possibly illegal thing to do. Some might even, if pressed on the matter, call what I've done morally corrupt. But hold your horses on that. See, I made the command decision to set up the kit because I don't have any upstairs neighbors right now. Also, I live on the ground floor and don't share any walls with the other two apartments in the building. So as far as I'm concerned, what I have done may be the most responsible and respectful installation of kick drum, snare, hi-hats, floor tom, and ride cymbal ever erected in a one bedroom apartment. To be honest, though, one neigbor, whose apartment is separated from mine by two stairwells, did approach me as I sat on my porch one day to say, quite simply: "So, you bought a drum set." We discussed the matter and he explained that he didn't mind unless I played after 10 o'clock. I have managed to restrain myself thus far, and just hope that the sleeping pills I've started taking don't lead me to sleep drum.

I can't say that I've ever been a Drummer, I've always considered myself more of a dabbler, just a drummer. But I do enjoy beating the hell out of things and making noise, and for these reasons I feel up to the task of at least messing around on a kit. At one point a few years ago, I was playing a few hours everyday, and I was playing the best I ever have, which means that I could just about keep up with Def Leppard dude on the band's post accident recordings. I'm not there anymore, but playing here and there is still a lot of fun.

A few weeks ago I recorded a song that ended up being put onto this mix cd that some guys in my town put together each month. It's a cool idea, one that encourages people to make music at home, and that's always a good thing. You can listen to my song--recorded in my apartment--and the rest of the cd at mixgrotto.com



My Motorcycle

I had a motorcycle in my dream.
The thing was really fast and shiny.
You'd of maybe liked it.
But you weren't there to bother me
at all, which was good.
With a motorcycle you shouldn't
have to put up with any shit.

My pants were wrong for the ride.
Khaki shorts. That made me nervous.
Even in my dream I was worried.
I was trying so hard to enjoy myself
on that motorcycle. I went fast on it.
I went fast down this sun lit highway
because I thought I was supposed to.

And goddamnit, I don't have a motorcycle.
Not when I'm awake. So that's that.
Bills. I've got those. Thinning hair. Sure.
I plan on telling you about the dream.
Kind of look forward to the way you
won't really listen to me as we cruise
along in a safe car at a safe speed.


Out on the Town

Untethered guilty feelings keep me
walking up and down short blocks
of ugly, stained sidewalks. Make me
sick of myself, feel ugly. My own
rust red blood marks a spot where I
was beaten. I stop to look at it, notice
that it's fading. Mopery with intent to
creep. That's the charge for the ambling
town tour I'm taking tonight.