Night Owl Cards

I remember when I lived in my first apartment back in the early 1990s -- when my wife and I were figuring out how the hell two people of the opposite sex could possibly live together in negative square footage -- we would get buried in Christmas cards. There was this wonderful archway between the living room and kitchen (the apartment did have its charms) and we filled that archway with all the cards we received. The cards traveled up one side, over the top, and down the other side. No space left over. As the years went on, the number of Christmas cards received dwindled, until here we are in 2015. We get a handful of cards from close relatives and a few older people who don't do the internet. They all fit into a six-inch Christmas tin. The archway is bare. I can chalk this up to two things: either people have gotten away from cards, letters and paper products in general, preferring to send greetings from a hot spot at Starbucks, or nobody likes us anymore. I prefer to g...

A couple of days ago, Topps released news of its new "Five Star Club," an exclusive club for super-high-end collectors who spend an average of $10,000 on Topps products each year. There was a lot of hue and cry about this and understandably so. ( Here is a well-thought-out rundown and rant). I was part of that, and I'll try to explain my feelings here. First, I'm not a fan of clubs. Never have been. I like things that are inclusive, not exclusive. Clubs can get ugly real fast. And here is the part of Topps' Five Star Club press release that got me going: "Introducing the Topps Five Star Club, an elite club for our most passionate collectors ." (Emphasis mine). Here was my Twitter reaction: A typical editor reaction to get worked up over word choice. But, still, it annoyed me. "Passionate" is not buying thousands of dollars of product in order to sell it or discard it. "Passionate" is not holding on to one card des...

I've never been a big dreamer. Even when I was in high school and college -- the times when we humans usually dream the biggest -- I was content with your painfully average future. If the future me had a wife, family, dog, house, job, car, a few random interests and a connection to the community, then I would be happy. No need to travel to exotic locations. No need to experience hang gliding or motorcycle jumping or mountain climbing. I don't want to be a rock star or a media mogul or David Beckham. I'm satisfied with little victories. The same goes for collecting baseball cards. The biggest coups in collecting don't interest me. I have no desire to own a 1952 Mickey Mantle. I know people find that hard to believe -- like this is every collector's dream. But it's not mine. If I could get it, so I could sell it, then, OK, I want to own it. But there is no yearning for the Mick. The same goes for a 1933 Goudey Nap Lajoie. Or a 1914 Cracker Jack Shoeless...